In The Depths Of the Nymph
by NihonBara
Summary: When Alfred is dragged down into the Kingdom by the river nymph, Arthur, he finds himself constantly at odds with the prickly creature who despises the idea of love and only wants physical intimacy. Gradually, their relationship deepens into more, but unfortunately, the power that trapped them together may soon tear them apart...
1. In His Eyes

(There will be a few character deaths later on. However, this is not a tragedy. I don't write tragedies.)

* * *

 **In His Eyes**

* * *

Was it love at first sight?

When asked that in the years after, Alfred always grinned and _lied_.

The truth was people liked not knowing. They liked being in the dark. They wanted the hero of a fairy tale. So he let them _believe_ he didn't regret his first look into those haunting green eyes. That he was happy temptation had turned his gaze to _Arthur_.

Few knew the _real_ story of Alfred and Arthur.

That story began on a hot, muggy day...

* * *

The glare of the afternoon sun had beaten down the column of soldiers. Both Alfred's grey horse, Liberty, and Matthew's white horse, Maple, walked with a slowed gait, dragging each hoof forward.

The air was so heavy Alfred felt like he breathed water.

"We must rest soon. Maple can't take much more," Matthew said softly, patting at his throat with a handkerchief so soaked with sweat it looked of little use. "Kiku is mad to keep this pace!"

Alfred nodded in agreement.

Sweat was dripping from the ends of his straw-blond hair and he was sure his cowlick was drooping. The undershirt of his leather armor was stuck to his torso. More than a few times he glanced with longing at the thick shade of oaks and elms lining the side of the road beyond Matthew.

A sudden pull drew his gaze to the river. He tried to ignore it. For some reason he had felt a growing apprehension about the river. As well as an increasing thirst. His waterskin was empty, but if he asked to drink from Matthew's he'd get a lecture about pacing himself better.

As the road curved around a bend, the grassy bank narrowed to only a couple feet, enough so Alfred could have seen his reflection if he leaned out of his saddle.

Then it happened.

It felt like an unseen hand pushed one side of his face and compelled him to face the river. His gaze traveled down into the river's dark depths, past its murky blue surface, past the carp and minnows teeming among stalks of kelp, and finally to its silty bottom.

The twitter of birds, the chatter and booted footfalls of soldiers, and the steady clomp of horse' hooves faded to a whisper, drowned out by the mellow rush of the river.

Alfred squeezed on the reins, wanting to warn his brother. Not a peep would escape his throat. Although Matthew was in arm's reach, Alfred could not signal him of the terror Alfred was seeing.

A shape rose from the river bed, gliding apace to Liberty. Mud and silt sloughed off the specter until a lean man was revealed. He was naked, eyes shut and arms cross over his pale chest like he had been lain for burial. The plants and fish never touched him, as if they inherently knew to bend around him.

 _The Kingdom awaits you, poppet,_ said an accented voice in Alfred's head.

His heart sped up. What was this evil?

"Al?" called a distant voice. It was Matthew's, yet it sounded miles away.

 _It's never hot in my kingdom_ , the creature said.

Alfred struggled, trying to wrench his eyes away. His gazed remained glued to the creature.

The phantom laughed - a sound like tinkling chimes - and opened its eyes. They shined as emeralds and gripped Alfred.

 _Come down for a swim, love_.

No, Alfred wanted to shout.

Sweat streamed down his face. He baked alive. His hand flew up and tugged at his collar. He needed to strip; he needed it off.

 _Stop! It's not real_ , he told himself, forcing himself to calmness.

 _And you'll never thirst_ , that voice said.

Had Alfred been thirsty before? He had never known real thirst until now. It felt as though he had swallowed sand. His lips cracked, broke, and bled from the dryness. His tongue scraped around his parched mouth. it was painful to swallow and all he wanted was a drink of the river's briny-flavor. One drop.

He was hardly aware of attempting to climb out of his saddle to jump in until a hand yanked him back.

"Al? What're you doing?" Matthew said, holding onto Alfred's collar. "Were you going for a swim?"

The other sounds of the world snapped back so fast it made Alfred dizzy. He blinked in shock.

"Mattie?" he said in confusion. His brother's pale violet eyes studied him in concern. That rounded face was painted with worry. "I'm fine." Alfred's said in a harsher voice than meant to.

What had happened? Had the heat made him hallucinate?

Although he was afraid to, he needed to know. Fearfully, he glanced back and slumped in relief to see nothing in the water. No ghost. No naked man floating like a corpse. It had been nothing.

"I'm going to insist to Kiku that we rest," Matthew said as Alfred turned back to him.

"I'm fine."

"You're pale as a ghost," Matthew said. Alfred frowned at his brother using that word. "You might have heat exhaustion."

 _Maybe that's it_ , Alfred thought.

He had just convinced himself of that when a cold voice whispered in his head, one that chilled his heart _,_ and said, _We'll be forever, love._

"Never," he breathe.

And for the first time since he had come to these lands across the Great Sea, Alfred missed home and he thought of father.

* * *

tbc...


	2. Of Father And Son

(Wow, ya'll. So many views, likes, favs, and reviews! Thank you!

For my spanish reviewer - _Me gusta leer su comentario! Muchas gracias para sus amable sentimientos.  
_

Berwald - Sweden - is Alfred and Matthew's biological father in this story. Next chapter will be back to Alfred at the river. This is just a quick glimpse at the past.)

* * *

 **Of Father And Son**

* * *

"But m'lord! Your attire!" The messenger, a slight man named Evan, called. "His Majesty said -"

"It was urgent," Alfred interrupted, neither glancing back nor slowing his brisk pace. Evan's hurried footfalls chased after him. Feet had always followed Alfred. That was the life of a prince.

A flushed and breathless Evan caught up and took the lead. The much shorter man had to run to match the wide stride of Alfred's longer legs, and his egg-shaped head bobbed on his long neck as he moved.

Although Alfred still wore the coarse clothing - a padded leather jerkin and loose pants - from his Dueling Class, he would never be mistaken as a commoner. That didn't happen. It was not that he'd care if it did. It was just that it didn't.

There was something that radiated authority and command in how Alfred walked, talked, spoke, carried his broad shoulders, and looked at others. It was ingrained in him from a lifetime of being trained not submit to anyone but his father, King Berwald, and even that was a chore.

From his earliest memories, both Matthew and he had been treated as unique by others. Told to distinguish their friends by status. Told to follow traditions that seemed outdated and trite. While Matthew had accepted this role, Alfred had rebelled against it at every turn. He had spoken to servants as equals. He had ignored meaningless customs and rules. To Matthew the rules and walls protected; to Alfred they only contained.

Alfred wanted independence.

Not Evan guiding him to a place he already knew how to reach.

King Berwald would be found in his personal study, atop Grisholm Castle's central keep, the Quarry. To reach the Quarry, the way Evan wanted to go, they would have to cross the gallery, pass through the middle and inner walls, and ascend more steps. All because it both stayed out of the rain and it was custom to use the main entrance.

Alfred had enough of useless traditions.

Without a word, he turned left and went down the steps, taking them two at a time. A gasp from behind alerted him that Evan had noticed.

"M'lord! Where are you going?" Evan cried, sounding like a baby bird chirping for its mother. His footfalls echoed down the stairway as he scurried after Alfred.

"It's faster to cut across the courtyard," Alfred called, rounding a landing. A wide-eyed servant girl carrying folded linens yelped and ducked out of the way of Alfred's ascent. He felt her confused eyes following him. Eyes had always watched him. That was the life of a prince.

By the time he reached the bottom and entered another white-washed corridor, a panting and exhausted Evan had caught up. "M'lord," he wheezed. "We shouldn't... go... this way."

"Nonsense," Alfred said.

They strode toward an arched door where a surprised soldier leaped to attention and rushed to remove the wooden bar from it. Nailed above the exit was a rusting horned helmet over a round shield, a leftover symbol of the many wars Alfred's ancestors had fought.

The door's rusty hinges squealed as it opened; the thrum of the rain grew louder. Moisture-laden air blew into his face. Alfred stepped outside with Evan, sheltered by the overhang of the inner wall. The rain was streaming down and had left puddles throughout the flagstone paths and grass of the courtyard.

Up on the walkways of the inner walls, guards - dim shapes in the grey curtain - patrolled back and forth with crossbows. Several yards ahead stood the Quarry, tall and proud, and at its massive base was a square door for servants. Two elite soldiers in dark green cloaks stood on either side of it.

"Not this way, m'lord," Evan pleaded like a mouse attempting persuade a bear not to eat a fish.

"It'll be faster," Alfred said, flashing a grin at the wilting Evan before he ducked into the downpour.

The rain pelted him, soaking his hair and chilling his skin. His boot splashed through puddles. Despite this, Alfred walked as if unfazed by the foul weather.

The elites, however, seemed very shocked. Rivulets of water rolled off their cloaks as they scrambled to open the door. It was barely opened in time for Alfred and Evan to enter the dark interior.

"M'lord, this is so improper!" Evan whined. He sneezed a couple time in concession and then continued his complaining. "What has come over you?"

"Who knows?" Alfred said with a shrug.

Inside they climbed more stairways, passed through more corridors with countless arched windows - closed to keep out the rain - and finally reached the top floor. No one could be here that was not invited by the King.

The double oak doors at the far end led to the study, a room Alfred had not been in months? Years? Alfred remembered he had been a gawky, long-limbed lad then. Now he had filled out his frame and lean biceps.

His father and he had not spoken since their argument, one started when Alfred learned of Matthew being sent to the East.

Evan ran to the doors and, with a knock, called inside, "Your majesty, your most blessed son, Prince Alfred, has arrived."

That voice - stern as Alfred remembered - grunted back, "Let him in."

Even pulled back one of the doors, bowing to Alfred, who strolled inside. The door was shut behind him. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim lighting.

The octagonal-shaped room, like the man who used it, had changed little. Dark-wooden bookcases, stuffed with every shape of book, glasswork, and metal contraption, were crammed into every available wall space. Most likely with an even thicker coat of dust than Alfred had last seen.

A small fire crackled in an arched fireplace on the right wall and, on the opposite side of the room, was a partly-opened window that allowed in grey light. Beneath the window was a red-cushioned sofa, worn and stained by time, where a small, slender man sat, knees together and posture rigid.

The black-haired man had the features of someone from the East Lands, the region Matthew lived in now. Was _he_ why Alfred had been summoned?

In the center of the room, King Berwald stood solemnly behind a black oak desk, studying the map spread out across it. Scrolls, letters, and parchment littered the spaces around it. He did not look up when Alfred stopped in the middle of the room's black and red rug. Father never let anything move him. His attention would come when _he_ was ready.

Alfred would wait.

It disappointed Alfred to see his father remained taller than him, a pillar of a man. His father had a grim cast to his green-blue eyes, blurred at the bottoms of his glasses. Exhaustion had added wrinkles.

"You couldn't dress proper?" Berwald asked harshly, finally raising his gaze to Alfred. Those blond eyebrows, same color as his air, knitted together in a frown. His square jaw set.

Alfred imagined if his father ever had a heart - something Tino, father's deceased lover, had insisted existed - he must have dug it out long ago and cast in into a fire so it would never trouble him again.

From his earliest years, Alfred and Matthew had come to learn not to expect affection or any warm regard from their father. He considered such things a nuisance and a burden.

The closest thing Alfred ever had to a father had, ironically, been Tino. Just thinking of him caused Alfred's hand to twitch. He itched to reach into his pocket and touch the silver pocket watch Tino had given him - the last thing Tino ever gave him.

"I heard it was urgent, father," Alfred said, slapping on a smile.

"I expected you to read between the lines. I expected too much."

Alfred's jaw clenched and his fingers curled into almost-fists. "We are at war, father. An urgent message could you know be urgent."

Berwald only grunted in response, then waved at the other man to come over. That short man rose gracefully, like a cat, and came over, footfalls near silent. The better light revealed the delicate features of his thin face. He had high cheekbones, a small mouth and nose, and almond-shaped eyes.

His outfit was like nothing a Northlander would wear; it was a white, close-fitting uniform with gold-threaded frog clamps on the shoulders.

"It is an honor to finally meet you, Alfred- _sama_ ," the adroit man said with a bow from his waist.

"This is General Kiku Honda of the Japanese Province of Kanto," Berwald said. "He is to escort you on your journey to the Japans."

Alfred almost fell over at that statement. What did his father say? Mind reeling, Alfred said, "My what?"

"No need to thank me," Berwald said in a dismissive way. "You will get to see that brother of yours. You are to escort Matthew to Yao's kingdom for his arranged marriage and negotiate our alliance with Emperor Yao. You leave tomorrow morning. That is all. You may go."

Alfred felt kicked in the stomach. He wanted to scream, to shout. What madness was this? How could his father send away his last heir?

Alfred's mouth opened and shut several times before he could form words coherently. Rage dripped in his voice as he asked, "You don't actually think I'm grateful, do you?"

An alarmed look widened Kiku's eyes. Meanwhile, Berwald seemed confused by Alfred's bitter tone. "You can't be angry. You pined about Matthew leaving. Now you can join him. Go. I'm busy."

Alfred blinked fast to keep the tears from his eyes. he breathed in and out, trying to calm down. His hand balled into his fists. He laughed, this was too funny! Too horrifying.

"Father, you are mad!" Alfred said in a tight voice. "You'll just send off your last heir like it's nothing?"

Kiku looked nervously between them.

Berwald's chiseled face darkened considerably. "I don't like your tone. You don't speak that way to your king. As for the matter of heir, that's not your concern anymore."

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked.

"You won't be king," Berwald said. His every word crushed Alfred's soul. "I have accepted that. Your cousin will assume the throne."

"You can't do that," Alfred said in a devastated tone.

"I'm realistic. You are a loud mouth, brash fool who is not fit to lead a kingdom. And you'd be assassinated by your cousins anyway before the crown ever touched your head. I'm doing the kingdom a favor and sparing it an unnecessary civil war."

As each word sunk into Alfred, knives to his heart, something rose in him and all he saw was red. Charging at the desk, he shoved off the map and grabbed the front of his father's blue coat, shouting, "You son of a bitch! How dare you!"

His father hardly reacted, that uncaring look never leaving his face. Nothing Alfred ever did pleased this man. And now here was the proof that he saw Alfred as a miserable failure.

"I apologize for this, General Honda. He gets emotional," Berwald said, turning to Kiku. "Could you wait downstairs? My son will join you shortly."

Kiku remained stoic as he left, only stopping to bow, and then hurried out. Alfred remained, glaring at the desk, breathing heavily. Shaken to the core. Destroyed. Teardrops landed on the surface of the desk. More slid down Alfred's cheeks.

"How could you?" Alfred asked, breathe hitching. His chest hurt.

Berwald sighed. "There's no pleasing you. I thought you wanted to see your brother. You need to restrain your feelings better."

"Screw you!" Alfred snapped, slamming a fist on the table. "Who the hell are you to talk about restraint? Did you restrain yourself with Tino?"

Berwald's deep-set eyes narrowed.

"I am tired," Berwald said, pulling Alfred's hand off him before folding his arms over his chest. "I'm tired of you blaming me for everything. Of your rude attitude. Honestly, when you calm down you'll realize this is for the best and that I'm right."

"Go to hell," Alfred said, straightening up and wiping his eyes clear. Without glancing at his father, he added with contempt, " _Your majesty_."

 _I'll never call you father again._

And without asking to be excused, he pivoted on his heels and stormed out.

His father seemed determine to die alone. So he'd let him.

* * *

( **Note -** Tino is dead in this story through circumstances that will be revealed later. That backstory caused a lot of the strain between Alfred and Berwald.

 **Note #2 -** This story is about 15-20 chapters long. The first action scene is in four chapters and it's explosive. Literally. You'll see.

 **Note #3 -** Geography is wonky in this world. The Swedish Empire is separated by an ocean from the Japans. And they use magic to speed up travel over the great distances.

 **Next time -** We go back to the present. Alfred and Matthew go for a bathe in the river and Alfred gets pulled under...

TBC in **Chapter 3 "Down _In_ The River"** )


	3. Down In The River

( **Note #** 1 —Thank you everyone for your favs, likes, and reviews. Hearing your thoughts on chapters and what you like and didn't like helps me greatly to improve my craft. So thank you everyone!)

* * *

 **Down In The River**

After shrugging off their armor and giving their undershirts to be washed and dried, Alfred and Matthew settled, bare-chested, in front of a fire. Several Japanese soldiers, lost in their own conversations, laughed and bantered on the other side of the flames.

An iron pot was suspended above the fire by a tripod. Every now and again a stout soldier came over to stir the rice porridge, simmering and bubbling in the pot. Its smell mixed with the scent of wood smoke in the air.

Alfred's stomach growled.

A smacking sound diverted his attention to Matthew who had swatted at another mosquito. His poor brother had little bumps all over, signs of the insects' feast of him.

"You're making it worse," Alfred said, pulling out a few stems of grass. He let the balmy breeze blow it from his palm.

"E-easy for you to say. They're not draining you dry," Matthew said, slapping at the air. "Why won't they ignore me like everyone else!"

"You're sweet and syrupy?" Alfred grinned at Matthew's unamused look.

His brother rubbed at his arms in what was a clear attempt to scratch without scratching. "I'm dying. When will Kiku return?"

"He went that way," Alfred said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the road. Soldiers moved to and fro, dim shapes in the waning light, on various errands. The forest receded back from the road in this area, giving a perfect expanse of grass for a camp. "Something about sending scouts on reconnaissance."

Matthew groaned, hugging his knees to his chest. Earlier, after giving their mounts a rub down, they had handed over the reins to a thin soldier who led them off to be tethered with the other forty horses.

"I-I hope he comes back soon. He promised to set us up somewhere to bathe in privacy."

Alfred stiffened, not caring for the reminder of the river. Although he knew he shouldn't, he sneaked a glance over his shoulder. The day was dying; the setting sun painted dark reds and golds across the river's glittering surface. The wind brought the smell of river musk to his nose, reminding Alfred of those green eyes on that pallid face.

 _He wasn't real_ , Alfred reminded himself, jerking his gaze back to the fire to watch the dying sparks it sent off.

 _The Kingdom awaits you, poppet_.

Alfred shut his eyes, willing himself not to remember, telling himself it was heat exhaustion. When he opened them again, Matthew was staring at him.

"What?"

"N-nothing," Matthew said, looking away shyly.

"Ah, admiring my incredible body?" Alfred teased, puffing out his chest.

Matthew rolled his eyes and gave a loud sigh.

Alfred pulled what resembled a foxtail from back home — minus the barbs — from its stalk and bit onto the thin stem. He relished the sweet flavor, letting the plant hang out of the corner of his mouth.

Matthew fidgeted, occasionally waving off a buzzing mosquito. "Y-you know that could be poisonous. You shouldn't put just a-anything in your mouth."

"Thanks, _honey_ ," Alfred said sarcastically. He knitted his fingers together behind his head and flopped onto his back to gaze at the sky. Stars popped out one by one. There would be no moon tonight. "Mattie, have you ever thought about it?"

"Th-thought of what?" Matthew's voice squeaked slightly, as if Alfred's question had caused him to think of something embarrassing.

"Being king." Alfred lifted his head up enough to see his brother's reaction.

Matthew glanced at Alfred in surprise, his blonde eyebrows lifting. Finally, after a long pause, he answered, "N-no. It was clear at an early age that I'd never be king."

"C'mon. Not once?" Matthew shook his head, his long cowlick swaying in front of his face. "How come?"

"B-because I knew I wasn't suited for it," Matthew said, adding softly. "A-and father favored you."

"Favored me?" Alfred guffawed. "That selfish, uncaring bastard favors no one! Not me. Not mom. Probably not even Tino. We were all tools to him."

Hearing his own bitter words stung in his ears. It was hard to admit that father didn't love him and never would. Alfred felt his heart sinking.

"You're wrong," Matthew said. "F-father cares. He just doesn't know how to show it."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Alfred said grimly. "He's right though. I'd be a lousy leader. I couldn't be cold-hearted and ruthless like him."

"Father's way of ruling is not the only way. And you could still be king one day. Many do not want to see The Scarlet Ax," the nickname for their infamous cousin from Denmark, "on the throne. Y-you'd have allies."

"Only if I was their pawn. And it'd mean civil war."

"Not if our cousin accepted your rule."

"Ha! You're funny tonight, Mattie," Alfred said, chewing on the stem. "If King Berwald can't accept me, I doubt The Scarlet Ax will. I'm not even close to their level. By the time the King was our age he had brought five of the seven kingdoms to heel. He could do complex Battle-Casting with ease. I'm barely average at Battle Casting. Gil could've told…you."

He barely whispered the last part, regretting mention of the Prussian. Alfred tried not to think of what happened with Gilbert. The memory still hurt a lot.

 _It was my fault_ , he thought.

"I-is it true? What they say?" Matthew asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," Alfred said, rolling onto his side, putting his back to Matthew. Unfortunately, this left him facing the river.

"Wh-whenever you're ready, Al. I'm here for you."

Alfred frowned at that comment. _Since when?_

The sun's light was almost gone. An unseasonal chill bled from the shadows, which now flowed like water from the river. Alfred shivered, eyes fixated on its dark surface.

 _We'll be forever, love_.

Even the memory of that voice caused him to shudder.

Alfred drew in a sharp breath as darkness descended.

He jumped when a finger tapped on his shoulder. Looking up, with a sharp, "What?" he saw Matthew crouching over him, holding a bowl.

"I-Is something wrong?" Matthew asked, voice quavering more than usual. "A-are you… are you angry with me?"

"Huh?" Alfred sat up, tossing the foxtail away. "Why would you think that?"

"W-well," Matthew said peevishly, gaze sliding to the bowl in his hand. The bowl full of steaming rice porridge. "Th-this is yours."

Alfred's eyebrows shot up and he gaped at the line of soldiers that had formed, their own empty bowls in hand, waiting eagerly for their portions. Like the soldiers, Matthew and Alfred carried and cleaned their own. Although Matthew always insisted on scrubbing Alfred's again because he believed Alfred wasn't thorough enough.

"When did… what…" Alfred was at a loss for words.

"I did wonder," Matthew said, pressing the warm bowl into Alfred's hand as Alfred stared around in confusion. It was now completely night. "You kept staring at the river. Even when I said dinner was ready. I thought you were dozing, b-but you're eyes were open. W-were you ignoring me?"

"No! Of course not." Alfred shook his head vigorously. Shaken by the loss of time. What had happened? "I swear I wasn't ignoring you."

"Enjoy," Matthew said, lower lip trembling. He sat down, picked up his own bowl, and began eating. His eyes glistened in the firelight and he turned away, hiding his face in shadow. "Th-they brought us baked yams."

Alfred glanced at a cloth with two large yams on top, he could smell their sweet flavor from here. Scrutinizing Matthew, he asked, "Mattie, are those _man_ _tears_?"

Matthew snorted in derision, almost smiling. "Man tears? You still call it that?"

"I won't call it crying," Alfred joked.

"I'm not crying. There's something in my eye." Matthew rubbed at his eyes.

"A mosquito?"

Matthew stopped rubbing long enough to punch Alfred's shoulder. "N-no."

"Wow, a falling leave hits harder." He grinned at Matthew's unamused stare.

Alfred blew on his bowl, stirring with his chopsticks, utensils he was becoming better at using. He tilted the bowl back, shoveling the rice into his mouth. It was flavorless, but his hungry stomach didn't care.

"I miss meat and bread," he said, between bites. Matthew nodded in agreement. "And forks." When Alfred finished, he set the bowl down and grabbed a yam, breaking it in half so it would cool faster. "Kiku raved about Japanese food the whole way here. He exaggerated."

"This is road food. The food in Tokyo was better" Matthew said, biting into a yam. He covered his mouth when he both chewed and talked. "D-don't you think The Scarlet Ax is a b-bit scary?"

"Scary?" Alfred said, as if Matthew had proposed the sky was green. "He's wild and demanding and — according to Tino, controlling — but that giant battle ax he always carries is _awesome_. Remember when he let us try to lift it?"

Matthew sighed. "We couldn't."

"We got it almost an inch off. Bet we could lift it now. And you should see him wielding it. I'd hate to fight him on the battlefield. He swings it one-handed! I want a weapon like that."

"A Runecraft?"

"Yeah," Alfred's eyes lit up. He chomped off a chunk of his yam, ignoring how it burned his mouth a little. "And that ax is said to be of Elven Craft."

There were no more elves. They were a legend now, but some of their artifacts remained. Casting required a source. The type of spell would require a different kind of source. The highest and most complex drew from multiple sources. Few could do that and Alfred wasn't one of them.

He used fire and earth mostly, while Matthew used air, water, and his own life.

"Kiku's katana has runecraft," Matthew said.

"What's his source?" Alfred asked, he had been curious about that. Was it elemental? Spiritual?

Maybe it was the whisper of the wind in the grass and tall stalks. He felt watched and searched. His eyes once more settled on the river. His heart began to beat louder. Why was he anxious?

By instinct he touched Tino's pocket water, comforted by its familiar ticking in his pocket.

"Oh, l-look," Matthew said, pointing behind Alfred "Kiku's coming. I can't wait to wash today's sweat off."

"Maybe I should skip," Alfred said, rubbing at his nape.

"N-no," Matthew said, waving a hand in front of his nostrils. "I don't want to smell you all night in the tent."

"But I smell wonderful." Alfred said, grinning. Matthew rolled his eyes.

Then Kiku arrived.

* * *

Usually, Alfred was the first one stripped and in the water when it came to bathing. This time it was reversed.

"Al the water isn't going to bite," Matthew teased. There was a small cove in the bank surrounded by tall grass and an inclining bank that gave them some privacy. Reeds and sticks of grass stuck up out of the water. Matthew had a bar of soap and was already waist deep in the water.

The cool water felt good on Alfred's hot skin as he waded deeper. He exhaled slowly. The silt and mud squished under toe; small rocks poking at the balls of his feet. His pants, along with Matthew's had been discarded on the bank.

A large splash slapped his face. He blinked and spluttered, spitting out coppery-tasting river water. "Mattie!" he said to his brother, the culprit. Grinning ear to ear, he cupped his hands together and threw a big one back.

Soon a fierce splash war broke out until they heard a " _Daijoubu desu ka?_ " from the bank and froze. A guard stood there, a silhouette with a spear, staring at them.

" _D-d-daijoubu!"_ Matthew said, voice saturated in embarrassment. The guard bowed and then walked off. Alfred couldn't see Matthew's face, but he knew his brother must be red as a beet by now. "Th-that was mortifying."

"Yeah, tell me about it. He saw how your splashing sucks," Alfred said, knowing Matthew was giving him another of those looks. "Let's lather up and get out. I want to… go to bed."

"Is there something wrong with the river?" Matthew asked, rubbing the soap over his upper torso. "You seem fixated on it. And earlier you looked like you were trying to dive in."

"Nah," Alfred said. _Heat exhaustion_. "This humidity is rough. That's all."

"Is Tino's dog, _Hanatamago_ , still bothering 'The Lion of the North'?" That was one of father's many names.

"Nope. He didn't last long after Tino passed," Alfred said sadly. "Guess he missed Tino too much."

"I'm sorry to hear that. He was cute."

"He annoyed the shit out of 'The Conqueror of the Baltic Seas' _,"_ Alfred said mockingly, using another of father's titles. "Remember when he pissed on the King's leg."

"Oh yeah," Matthew said, handing Alfred the soap. "And father kept trying not to react to it. Tino kept scolding Tamy."

"I've never seen the King want to kill something more. Tamy always yipped and bit at his heels. Never seemed intimidated by him," Alfred said, then changed the subject, "So, are you nervous about marrying into Yao's court? Maybe he won't give you to one of his daughters. Maybe he'll make you his concubine."

"Sh-shut up, Al," Matthew said, dunking in the water to rinse himself off. "I-I don't want to worry over it."

In a more somber tone, Alfred asked, "Will you be like father? You know, take a lover?"

Matthew shook his head. "No."

"I feel the same way," Alfred said. "I'll love my wife no matter what."

"It's not that easy. You can't control what you feel."

"I accept I may not love the person I marry," Alfred said. "But I will try my best to focus on their best points. I don't want my partner to be sad like our mother was."

He washed the soap off his skin and hair. The water felt silky and noticeably cooler. Hairs rose along his nape and he looked at it's dark surface, trying to see through the gloom. Ripples radiated in the surface. A fish?

"L-let's get out," Alfred said suddenly, heading for shore.

"B-but why?" He put a hand on Matthew's shoulder, urging him to the bank. Water dribbled off them. Something felt off. "A-Al?"

Alfred stumbled, foot snagging on what he thought was a root. When he tried to get up, a cold hand grabbed his ankle and yanked him. He went down with a splash, lashing out madly with his free foot, face dripping with water.

"Al!" Matthew cried.

Alfred sensed more than saw his brother reaching for him and threw out his hand. Their fingers touched before a brutal jerk pulled Alfred under. Alfred scrambled, hands trailing the rocks and silt, flailing for purchase.

Alfred broke the surface again, long enough to grab a breath of air and yelp, "Matt!". Another jerk pulled him under, this time he was not allowed to get near the surface. Whatever was holding him, was now dragging him down and down.

He was being carried off, the water pressing in on him. His lungs burned from a lack of air. He fought, but it was no use. His heart thudded in his chest, blood crashed in his ears, and his hands searched — and found something to grasp.

A root sticking out of the bed. His fingers clenched around it and the pulling stopped. It felt like his leg would be ripped off, but he held on. Alfred twisted around and mouth fell open in an unheard scream, bubbles spilling out.

That face, that beautiful and handsome face, was behind him. Its emerald eyes glowed, as did the ivory skin on his oval face and slender hand.

The creature that looked like a man smirked. In Alfred's head, he spoke, _The Kingdom awaits, love._

And the root slid from Alfred's grasp.

* * *

( **Note #1—**

Did you spot the Hetalia canon stuff? The "Conqueror of the Baltic Seas" ect.

( **Note #2** —

If you love legends about nymphs, you should check out the story of Hylas. He was boyfriend to Heracles — not Hetalia Greece — in ancient mythology and was a handsome man. But Hylas, while fetching water from the river, was lured in by the nymphs and taken as their new boytoy. In museums you can see depictions of the abduction of Hylas by the water nymphs or naiads.)

 **Next Time -**

Alfred fights to escape as he is pulled under. Things continue in **"What Lies Beneath"**

(Things turn explosive in Chapter 6)


	4. What Lies Beneath

**(** Thanks for all the faves and likes. Thanks especially for the amazing reviews by anonymous **, The Story Siren, Red Phoenix14, and NyleveLlom.** Any feedback you have is also great because it helps me improve. If a chapter is dull, just let me know and I'll work on its. :)

* * *

 **What Lies Beneath  
**

* * *

Alfred struggled, his free foot kicking up layers of silt, adding to the murkiness in the water. The sole source of light - the creature itself - glowed, as if millions of tiny lucid diamonds encrusted its skin.

 _Come to the Deep, poppet_ , sang that melodic voice in his head.

Its brilliant green eyes, roofed by the thickest eyebrows Alfred had ever seen, stared intently at Alfred like fire burning from a skull. They demanded he let go.

The monster's nails dug into the flesh of his ankle and Alfred cried out, bubbles spewing from his mouth. He hung on by only two fingers and a thumb. He felt a rising need to obey, a pressure to submit, and let himself be pulled under.

 _We'll have fun forever and ever, love..._

Images of Matthew - weeping, searching, calling for him, and forever wondering how he disappeared - entered his head and rallied his will. Alfred tightened his grip.

 _No_ , _a hero doesn't surrender!_ Alfred shouted in his head.

A bolt of blue energy crashed above and lit the darkness like a flash of lightening. In that moment before it dissolved, the light revealed the creature's _true_ face. Gone was the skewed smile and leering look. Gone was the distortion of cruelty. In its place a was a very human-looking face surrounded by a cloud of its own sandy blond hair, a face of surprise and determination. One that didn't look evil.

The illumination vanished and the illusion snapped back.

 _Let go, git!_ the thing growled, dropping the charm.

But if Alfred was anything, it was stubborn.

Another bolt hit, but did not penetrate any deeper than the first. Alfred had no time to wonder if it was Matthew casting; his mind wholly occupied with the realization that the creature's grip loosened with each blast and it shrunk from them. The magic _affected_ it.

The words of Elizabeta, his former Runemaster, ran in his head, " _Al, battle casting requires intense concentration. Something you lack._ "

But he had to. For Matthew.

Without his broad sword, his only source was his own body and life energy. That meant if this failed he would be weakened after and likely pass out. Alfred had only one shot.

He shut his eyes, visualizing the set of runes, the language of the ancients. Energy rose and swelled in his chest, spreading downward into his calf. In his mind's eyes, he envisioned his leg radiating a golden light. The glow swirled around him, enveloped him. It tingled, became painful, and consumed the last of his air. He was now suffocating. The raw power burned his nerves.

Alfred let go of the root, eyes shooting open. Pinpricks of light danced in his vision.

Naked triumph dominated the man-thing's face, pale lips starting to lift in a smirk that began to shift to shock when Alfred smashed his heel into its nose. There was a crunch. Alfred let loose the spell, heart ripping painfully through his leg, the bottom of his foot, and into the creature's face.

It was agony. A mirror to the pain the man-thing howled with in Alfred's head. But Alfred was free!

He twisted around, pushed off the bottom, and clawed for the surface. Alfred broke through, gasping for air; his lungs could not take in enough. As he bobbed up and below the surface, he caught glimpses of the shore and two shadowy bodies wading towards him.

"M-Matt!" he gasped, water sloshing into his mouth. He coughed and choked on it. His vision blurred, everything doubled.

 _Bloody git!_ The thing screeched in his head, cursing up a storm.

Alfred reached toward the bank, but violet cramps contorted his limps that refused to obey him. They were drained too much by the spell, and would not work properly. He began to sink. Help so near, yet so out of reach.

 _Cooooommmmeeee baaaack, looove_ , that voice crooned.

 _No, no, no!_ He wailed in his mind.

A hand seized his and he was pulled forward. "A-al!" Matthew cried. He and the other shape - a soldier? - each hooked an arm around Alfred's and dragged him to shore. He kicked and tried to push them faster.

Although he could not see anything in the dark water, he felt the creature near. Its furious gaze burrowing into his back. He only allowed himself to feel relief when his feet touched slick grass and mud. He had had escaped.

When they set him down, he puked and then rolled onto his back. "M-Mat-t-tie," he wheezed, teeth chattering. He felt so cold, a side effect of using his body as a source and the cool river water.

His brother fell to his knees beside Alfred and cradled his head. "You're freezing! Someone get a blanket!" Matthew cried.

Soldiers ran all around, vague shapes in a large commotion. Most appeared to be rushing to the bank. Kiku stood, back to Alfred, shouting orders in Japanese. His katana was drawn and blazed with a pale blue light. _That was Kiku casting!_ Alfred realized distantly.

Alfred fought to stay conscious. The ground rocked and swayed.

"M-Mat-t-tie."

"Al, what happened?" Matthew asked, rubbing Alfred's shoulder in a clear attempt to warm him.

"H-he... grab-b-bed," Alfred managed, teeth chattering. "Tried-d t-to... t-tak-ke... me."

"Who did?" Matthew asked.

"What did?" Kiku asked, coming over to stand over Alfred, his expression lost in shadow.

"The green-eyed-d... man..." Alfred's eyelids slid shut.

Sheer exhaustion dragged him into unconsciousness. The last thing he heard was Kiku saying, "It seems _Arthur-sama_ has chosen your brother."

* * *

 **Note -** I had to divide some chapters so the explosion is pushed back a bit. Sorry ~

I wanted the Nords' flashback to be in its own chapter.

 **Next Time:**

Alfred was too young to understand why he shrank back in dread from the crimson-eyed Prussian who arrived with King Berwald. On a day of victory, no one knew they had invited their downfall...

 **TBC...** in **"The Day Hope Died"**


	5. The Day Hope Died

**Acknowledgements -** Thank you **The Story Siren** and **Mimozzz** for your reviews. Your words keep me motivated, along with all the views, favs, and likes.

* * *

 **Note #1 -** This is a flask back to when Alfred and Matthew were children. Character introductions include Elizabeta, Roderich, Tino, Gilbert, Denmark - The Scarlet Ax. And _part_ of Romania.

* * *

 **Note # 2 -** This is a long update. Next chapter is back to the present. These flashbacks contain important plot elements and these events will begin to enter the present story.

* * *

 **The Day Hope Died**

* * *

They stood in white frocks on opposite sides of their mother, the Queen. Every time Alfred or Matthew reached to scratch under their frilly collars, itchy with sweat, their mother flashed them warning looks. Matthew, the more obedient, gave up quicker and quietly suffered while Alfred continued to sneak his fingers up.

"Alfie," his mother warned.

His arm dropped back to his side.

Instead he dug his slippered toe into the wide obsidian step, carved with veins of pearl and silver. There were four hundred steps in total that led up to the Temple of Ages. He started to sway slightly from side to side, watching his shadow shift around his feet.

"Stop fidgeting, Alfie," his mother admonished, squeezing his hand. "If you're father sees your behavior, what will he think?"

He looked up, squinting. Her oval face eclipsed the noon sun; the glare hiding her impatient expression and glinting in the jewels of her golden crown. She wore an ivory dress with a long cape, bedecked of pearls.

King Berwald had left two years ago for war before Alfred had been old enough to really remember him. Sometimes Alfred had stared at his father's portraits, trying to emulate the stern expression captured in their oil paints.

Looking ahead, Alfred mumbled, "I don't know."

From the bottom of the stairs extended a long cobble-stoned avenue, one lined by steep-roofed, grey-faced buildings, that dead-ended in Stanla Gan Square. Normally, it was not so crowded, but today was special. Today thousands thronged the roadsides, kept from the middle by soldiers. Their gaze were glued to the Square; many hopped up and down attempting to see over one another.

From a street around the corner, the crowds could be heard roaring and the trumpets blaring, they told the progression of King Berwald and the Northern Lords.

Butterflies flapped around madly in Alfred's stomach and he searched around in desperate need of a distraction.

Of the dozens and dozens of courtiers, castle staff, and servants lining the outside of the staircase he stood in the center of, Elizabeta, his Runermaster, turned back. Her round, green eyes locked with his and she smiled, rosy cheeks dimpling.

He grinned toothily, the wind blowing through the gap left since one of his front teeth fell out last week. She was his favorite teacher, one who many still called The Eagle Eye for her legendary prowess as an archer.

Her husband, Coinmaster Roderich, glanced between them, one oak-brown eyebrow lifted on his triangular face. The color matched his wavy hair, slicked back in an attempt to tame his ahoge.

Elizabeta turned back to the Square, her thick, sandalwood-colored ponytail swished down her back. She had a pink flower tucked above her right ear. Her growing pregnant belly pushed the front of her red skirt, white undershirt, and the bottom of her black bodice slightly outward.

"Mattie," mother said in exasperation. Alfred glanced over to see the back of her head, honey-blond plait exposed. "You promised. No tears."

"S-s-sorry mother." He wiped at his eyes. Alfred rolled his. _Crybaby_ , he thought.

Alfred tensed when his mother rounded on him. "And you. No jokes. No pranks. Alfie, I mean it."

"I said I wouldn't," he said sullenly.

The pound of drums, blare of trumpets, and thunder of the crowd became deafening, announcing his father's arrival in the Square. Alfred shaded his eyes, straining to see. King Berwald, clad in an impressive suit of blue and gold armor, rode atop an equally impressive black warhorse.

"It's him! It's really him!" Alfred said, pointing excitedly, until a firm squeeze from his mother's hand reminded him to tone it down. He swallowed hard, mouth going dry.

People hollered, wept, and stamped, tossing flowers and herbs toward the King and the long procession of knights and horsemen he led. Those on balconies threw petals, filling the air with them. Many pumped their fists in the air and chanted in unison, "Long live the Conqueror! Long live the Lion!"

Behind father, in the middle of two other armor-clad horseman, was a young man recognizable by his spiky, cornsilk-blonde hair, his scarlet and black armor, and the giant steel battle ax on his back. The Scarlet Ax waved to the crowd, blowing kisses to a few.

Alfred bit back a groan. His cousin always rumpled his hair and told him what to do. He was really bossy.

Peering harder, Alfred tried to figure out what was impaled on the tip of the long spear the Ax carried in one hand. It was an object like a large melon with yellow-brown fur on the top. A cloth sack? A ball? Every time the Ax shook it, the crowd cheered louder.

On his cousin's right rode someone much shorter on a white horse whose ill-fitted steel armor appeared to be devouring him. The ashen blond kept glancing around, as if he were a mouse searching for a hole to hide in.

But the left flank was stranger. A soldier, dressed in simple chainmail that was under a white tabard, rode with his head concealed under a steel helm, visor down. At his hip was a large broadsword.

Where was Lord Lukas and his brother?

Alfred had been looking forward to seeing his favorite uncles, who always brought gifts and performed exciting magic tricks. While Alfred was still learning customs, he knew they should be the ones riding beside the Ax.

When the king reached the steps, the crowd stilled and quieted, the procession halted. King Berwald dismounted, passing the reins to a soldier, and climbed the stairs.

The Ax and two others followed, but kept a distance of three paces behind the King. Alfred clutched his mother's hand tighter, heart beginning to beat.

The pauldrons of father's armor sloped at the shoulders, and his breastplate was made of his intricate horizontal overlapping plates. His blue cape flowed behind him, fluttering in the breeze. There were hints of wear and dried bloods on his suit. His heavy sword had an enormous pommel set in the scabbard on his left hip.

Halfway to them, father stopped and turned to the audience, holding out his hand. The Ax handed over the spear and, only then, did Alfred realized what had been stuck on it. Only then did his mouth fall open and his eyes widen. He heard a loud sniffle from Matthew and a "It's all right," whispered softly from mother. Alfred knew he should be scared, worried, anything but fascinated. Transfixed. He had never seen a severed head before.

He could only see the back and a bit of the left cheek. Rotting flesh flapping around in tatters, exposing bleached bone. The long hair was dry and stiff and hung to the jawline.

"Behold!" his father boomed, raising the spear. "The dreaded Impaler is no more! His rein of terror is ended! I bring you Vlad Braginsky!"

The crowd erupted in deafening adulation that lasted for over a minute before his father lifted his palm and they went silent.

"We have shown that scum that we legislate with battle ax and broadsword!" Another roar of applause. "The filt of House Dracule and Braginsky has been cleansed! I have brought you peace through strength!"

The people went berserk in praise. "Hail the King! Hail the Conqueror!" They chanted. Finally, he silenced them and handed the spear back to Alfred's cousin whose wide mouth split in his usual cock-sure grin. His cobalt-blue gaze locked on Alfred, and cocking one of his black eyebrows, he rotated the spear so Vlad faced Alfred.

Alfred swallowed hard. His little feet felt nailed to the steps. He could not look away from the empty sockets, eyes shriveled and rotted away. The jaw hung askew, the body of the spear visible in the chasm of the mouth, and lips twisted in a macabre grin. Vlad's fangs - said to have been filed down by Vlad himself - stuck out from under what remained of the upper lip. Patches of split and peeled skin covered the skull.

Those empty sockets seemed to posses eyes, ones that glared at Alfred, watched him. Vlad's head seemed to say, _Hey kid. Wanna see a dead body? Wanna hang with me?_

 _"-_ much has changed, my sword." Alfred jumped a little at the sound of his mother's voice. He had been so fixated by Vlad he had failed to noticed his father kneel before the Queen and say the first part of the rehearsed lines, a custom from ancient times. "Come. Let us thank the Heavens for victory. You are weary and a feast awaits in the castle."

The King kissed the ruby on her golden ring and stood, never looking either Alfred or Matthew.

"My shield," Berwald said to the Queen, voice empty of feeling. "Two have come from shadow to join our light."

Alfred tried not to glance at Vlad, feeling queasy, the side of his face burning. He was sure it was staring at him even though that was absurd.

 _He's dead_ , Alfred told himself.

The Ax cleared his throat and the young man dressed in a too-big-suit-of-armor yelped in surprise," O-oh." He hurried up the steps and clumsily dropped to one knee before the Queen, almost falling over. "Y-your majesty."

He had a round, babyish father. His gentle, lavender-colored eyes were wide and he moved with a nervous energy. A white beret was clipped on the let side of his thin blonde hair and he wore a cross neck-charm.

Berwald placed a hand on his shoulder, and the young man stilled. His cheeks pinked, pouty lips pressing together.

"This is Tino Vainamainen, son of Aimo," Berwald said. "He shall be my new Groom of Stool."

There was a gasp or two from the sidelines. Alfred winced when his mother's grip tightened painfully on his hand. She trembled; her smile became strained.

He wondered what was wrong.

"That's quite a responsibility, my shield," she said. "Is he prepared for such a task?"

"I offer my life and all I am in service of your family, your house, and your kingdom," Tino said, voice quavering slightly. "I shall never waver in my duties."

"Then I welcome you, Tino Vainamainen, son of Aimo." He leaned over, puckering his lips, kissed her ring like a fish might. An unmistakable look of barely-suppressed revulsion flickered across her features. And she added frostily, "May you satisfy _all_ your lord's needs."

Alfred frowned. There was something odd in her tone. Bitter. Was mother angry?

Berwald showed no emotion. Tino rose and went back to his earlier place. The other knight, the broad-shouldered one with the helmet, came forward and knelt. He sneezed once.

"Is he your new cup-bearer?" the Queen asked wryly.

Somehow Berwald's expression became stonier. "My shield, he is someone you know. One we thought lost. One found and saved when I relived Vlad's body of its wretched head. A man who endured three year of torture in that House of Horrors. Reveal yourself, Sir _Gilbert_."

Mother went rigid and nearly let go of Alfred's hand.

 _Gilbert?_ Alfred had heard Elizabeta speak often of a Gilbert. A former friend of hers captured by the Braginsky's and presumed dead.

As he slid the helmet off, revealing his silver-white head of hair, gasps and chattering broke out from all around. Wide-eyed courtiers and servants gaped and whispered to one another. In the corners of Alfred's eyes he spotted Elizabeta, hand over her mouth, tried to step forward until Roderich caught her arm and held her back.

"Your Majesty, it has been too long," Gilbert said, raising his gaze to the Queen, sunlight caught in his irises and they bladed with a crimson glow. Alfred stared, he had only heard stories of such eyes. Gilbert's heavy lids gave him a sleepy look to match his relaxed posture.

His mother trembled; her expression looked drawn and concerned.

"Sir Gilbert? This is truly a miracle," she said, breathlessly. "We thought you passed."

"Many times in that hellhole I wished that so. I begged for death." The edge of criss-crossing scars were visible just above his collar; they marred his cream-colored skin. His pale lips spread in a slow smile. "Until I realized that no one can kill this much awesome."

A snort of laughter escaped the Ax who quickly stifled it.

"Your hair and eyes have changed," she said sadly.

Gilbert grimaced, saying bitterly, "I was the unfortunate favorite of many of that Romanian scum's experiments in black magic. But I swear," he took her hand, eyes wide with earnest, "I'm every bit as awesome as I was before. I only wish, if your house will have me, for the honor to serve once more."

"It is _we_ who are honored to have your _awesome_ self back," the Queen said with a demure smile. He kissed her hand and she touched the side of his face. "Rise, Sir Gilbert, son of Old Fritz. Shed the darkness and horror of before and step into the Light."

He stood up and her hand returned to Matthew's grasp. Just before he could turn to leave, she called, "Lady Eliza! Lord Roderich! Come forth!"

Berwald blinked, showing the first clear emotion that Alfred had seen on him. All eyes went to Elizabeta whose cheeks pink enough to match her flower. With a curtsey, she came forward, followed by Roderich who quickly straightened his blue jacket and the jabot of his white shirt.

"Y-Your Ladyship," Elizabeta said, lower lip trembling. Gilbert and she exchanged a glance. He gave her a soft smile. She gave another curtsey and Roderich bowed.

"Please, have a moment," the Queen said, gesturing at Gilbert. "I know well what it's like to have someone you thought lost returned."

The Ax grin from ear to ear; Berwald seemed annoyed; and Tino just looked confused.

Tears slid down Elizabeta's cheeks as she turned to Gilbert and cupped his cheek. He shut his eyes and leaned into her palm. Roderich stood stolidly, expression unreadable. "It's real. You're here." Her breath hitched in a sob. "I can't believe it. You're alive. I dreamed of this day for so long."

"I..." Gilbert began, eyes opening. His smile dimmed, gaze flickering to her belly. A sad look entered his eyes. He took her hand, pulled it from his face and put it gently against her stomach. Steeping out of reach, he said, "I can't believe you're wearing that girly-get up. You cross-dressing or something?"

There was a shocked pause, and Alfred swore he heard a few groans. Roderich's eyes bulged and Elizabeta frowned, scrubbing away tears. "That's the first thing you want to say to me after all this time?"

Gilbert's eyes hardened, yet his mouth flashed a wide grin and he glanced to Roderich. In a sarcastic voice, he said, "So, Young Master, you sure you can handle this rotten woman?"

A crease deepened between her brows. Roderich lifted his pointed chin and replied smoothly. "Better than you. _Clearly._ "

"Heh." Gilbert snorted. "Your funeral. This," he patted the large silver pommel of his blade, "is the only bride for me. Like Old Fritz used to say 'women make men less awesome'. But then this tomboy doesn't really count."

Alfred knew that looked on Elizabeta; it was the one she gave when she wanted to his someone with her frying pan. It was the one that signaled you to start running.

"Enough. Finish your pleasantries later," Berwald said coldly.

The Queen looked speechless by the outcome of the reunion. Elizabeta and Roderich gave their leave and returned to their places on the steps, he had one arm over Elizabeta, steadying her. Gilbert bowed and went to stand back below the King.

After handing the spear to Gilbert, the Ax came next. Down on one knee, he grinned at the Queen. She didn't offer her hand immediately. Instead she asked, "You've developed quiet a reputation, _Scarlet Ax._ "

" _Sir Scarlet Ax_ ," he joked, winking at her.

"Pray tell where is Lord Lukas and his brother, Lord Emil? I was looking forward to their company."

"Your Majesty, I'm sad to say they could not join us," the Ax answered. "They hunt the last of the Braginsky."

"The last? Are they not all finished?"

"Sadly, not yet," he said. "Three still live. Ivan and his two sisters, Katyusha and Natalia, remain unaccounted for. I assure you Lord Lukas will find. Ivan's still a mere boy."

Alfred gulped, wondering nervously what they'd do to Ivan. Would he be sent to the corner? Alfred hated the corner. It was so boring? Deep down through, he had suspicion, one he wasn't ready to face.

"How did they escape?"

"We're not sure. If they escaped or were let go," he said, giving a small nod to Gilbert. "When we found him in the throne room, Vlad had him in some sort of set-up, draining his blood. It was like walking into the Devil's personal chambers. The stench. Vlad sat in a tub of blood, his own children and wives lay butchered around. We believe he used their blood to fill his bath. He drank of his kin. And even as His Majesty took his head, he taunted that he couldn't be killed and spoke in that deviled tongue of his."

Alfred glanced at the head, feeling cold inside. A shadow fell over the city, so sudden, that other noticed and glanced up to see a long, grey cloud passing in front of the sun. It felt cooler. The darkness was only a moment, but the effect remained.

Those empty eyes and that face seemed to leer at Alfred; he felt he could hear evil laughter in the air. _Get rid of it_ , he wanted to say.

"We ... should speak of this more at the feast," the Queen said, sounding nervous.

"Yes, your Majesty," the Ax said and her kissed her ring. Before returning to his place, he leaned over and ruffled Alfred's hair. "Hey little Awfie. How's the tiny hero doing?"

Alfred started to bat that hand away, but saw his father looking at him. He tolerated it. The Ax laughed at him and went back.

 _Jerk_.

As they proceeded to the temple, Alfred stole another glance over his shoulder at Vlad. Sure _he_ was cursing them all.

* * *

 **Historical Note -** The Groom of Stool was the most intimate courtier and personal manservant of a royal monarch - technically English monarch - but I used that title in this story.)

 **Note -** This version of Romania is mixed with the mythos of Vlad the Impaler, a historical figure on whom the myth of Dracula is based. In this story Romania is father to Ivan, Katyusha, and Natlia.

I swear the background converges mightily with the present and Arthur and Alfred's story. None of this is superfluous.

* * *

 **TBC... in "Troubling Omens"  
**

(Next chapter is back to Matthew, Kiku, and Alfred))


	6. Bond Of Brothers

( **Note -** If you enjoyed this story, please feed the motivation meter with likes, favs, and/ or reviews)

... and HAPPY NEW YEAR!

* * *

 **Troubled Omens**

* * *

Alfred could not wake up.

An ethereal man with brilliant emerald eyes held Alfred's wrists with his cold hand, dragging Alfred deeper into the dream. One that went down into a dark, watery abyss. Far in the distance shined a kingdom, glowing in a witchy green light.

The deeper they went, the colder the water became. The pressure built in Alfred's ears and his lungs burned. Silvery bubbles trailed from his mouth.

And his dreaming mind realize that at the bottom was his grave, a place without sun, Matthew, or hamburgers. He started to struggle, trying to kick free.

 _Forget family, friends, and all you knew,_ the creature urged, voice ringing like a bell.

"No," Alfred mouthed, wrenching his hand free. For a flicker he had hope; he turned to shoot for the surface, however, it latched onto his ankle.

 _You belong here, git._

He wailed in a soundless scream as its hand seared his flesh.

* * *

Alfred woke screaming and thrashing. Someone tried to push him down which worsened his panic until that person's words broke through. "A-Al! St-stop!"

Alfred stilled. He blinked, vision clearing. "Mattie?"

There was his brother - round face framed by long butterscotch-blond locks - wearing a loose tunic and trousers and was bent over Alfred, attempting to pin Alfred to the bedding.

" _Daijoubu desu ka?_ " asked a solder, popping his head through the tent flap.

Matthew let Alfred ago, sitting back on his legs. " _D-Daijoubu desu,_ " Matthew said quickly. The guard nodded and disappeared back out.

"Look what you did," Matthew chided, grabbing a small cloth from nearby and patting at the bedding where water had slurped out of the wide, wooden bucket that Alfred's left foot lay across, his heel just dipping into the warm water.

Alfred sat up on his elbows, sucking in a sharp breathe through his teeth as the movement made him aware of how much agony his body was in. It felt as thought the muscles in his legs especially in the right, had been beaten with a hammer.

But his ankle stung, as if scalded. His blood chilled when he saw why: a red handprint was burned into the juncture between foot and lower leg. Nails had raked along the top of his foot, leaving gouged skin.

"Crap, he was real," Alfred said in a hollow voice.

"Who was?" Matthew asked softly. He dunked the cloth in the bucket's herbal-smelling water, wrung it out, and then wiped it gently over Alfred's injury. Alfred winced at the stinging sensation.

"That green-eyed thing. It looked like a man," Alfred said, throwing aside the blanket, relieved to see he had his underpants on. "Oh thank goodness! I'm not butt-naked."

"You're welcome for that," Matthew said, shaking his head slightly. "What did you see?"

"I'm not sure," Alfred said, glancing around. They were in their shared tent, gear at the back, bedrolls spread out, and a lantern burning in the corners, its light obscured by Matthew's shadowed figure. "But Kiku seemed to know. He said something… can't remember."

"Arthur-sama," Matthew said, dropping the rag. He pulled out his maple-leaf-shaped emblem form inside his tunic and, with a look of fixed concentration, muttered words too low for Alfred to hear. It glowed a dull orange, soothing whispers of energy flowed into Alfred's ankle.

Although Alfred wanted to ask more, he knew better than to distract Matthew right now. He waited until sweat beaded on Matthew's forehead.

"You're overdoing it," Alfred said. If Matthew passed the emblem's limit, he would be consuming his own life energy, something Alfred had done and his body was paying for now.

"Says the guy who overdid it," Matthew replied. "Drawing without a source is a good way to kill yourself. I've been repairing your muscles for the past hour."

"I had to."

Matthew tucked the emblem away, took a dry rag, and patted Alfred ankle dry before dipping his fingertips into a bowl of salve and slathering it on. Alfred hissed in pain and resisted jerking away.

"Don't be a baby," Matthew said with a small smile.

"Well, it hurts," Alfred whined. "So what did Kiku say about Arthur-sama?"

"He didn't. He wanted to wait until you woke," Matthew said. "I'm sure he'll check here any moment. He's been doing so since we brought you here."

"Lord Matthew? May I enter?" Kiku asked from outside.

Matthew and Alfred exchanged shocked expressions. Alfred gave a thumbs up and approving nod, saying, "Amazing timing, Mattie."

"Lord Alfred?" Kiku said. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah, but I wish I wasn't!" Alfred joked.

"Pl-please come in," Matthew called.

"Is all well? The guards heard screaming earlier?" Kiku said, pulling back the tarp. He removed his shoes and bowed before entering.

"Al was having a bad dream." Alfred shot Mattew a glare. _Don't say it that way!_ He wanted to say.

"I apologize for my attire," Kiku said stoically, as he sat down cross-legged across from Matthew on Alfred's right. He removed his sword and scabbard from his belt and placed them in front of him.

His white jacket, partly unbuttoned to reveal a dark undershirt, had faint grass and dirt stains all over. A sheen of perspiration glistened on his skin and in his black hair.

He put his hands on his knees, posture relaxed, but ready to spring in action in a blink. It was the posture of a warrior, one always ready for combat.

" _D-daijoubu desu_ ," Matthew said nervously as he began to bind Alfred's ankle in strips of cloth, tying each off snugly.

"Who is Arthur-sama?" Alfred asked bluntly, ignoring Matthew's frown.

"You heard that, Alfred-sama?" Kiku asked, his face grim. In a lower voice, almost a whisper, "Please avoid saying that name too loudly. It makes the men _nervous_. I told them a river snake attacked you."

"A r-river snake?" Matthew asked.

"Do they get that big?" Alfred asked, honestly curious. Matthew frowned at him. "I mean… why?"

"The soldiers are good men, but they are superstitious," Kiku said. "We don't quite have a word in our language. The closest might be _bakemono or yurei_. However, I've heard him called a nymph in English."

"A nymph? A river nymph?" Matthew said, eyebrows inching up his face.

"A what?" Alfred asked.

"They are river spirits," Matthew explained. "Didn't you pay attention to any of your studies?"

"Sometimes. But I have you to remind me." He grinned at an annoyed-looking Matthew. "So what about this nymph or whatever? Is he… it dangerous?"

"If the stories are to be believed, then yes," Kiku said. "The legend of the green-eyed nymph who appears like a _gaikokujin_ is an old one. The river is named after him."

"The _Aruturu-kawa!_ " Matthew said, lighting up with realization.

"If that thing's in there, why the hell would anyone travel near the river?"

"No ones been troubled for centuries from what I've heard," Kiku said. "I've led several companies through here without incident."

"What does he do?" Matthew asked.

Kiku lowered his cast and, in a somber voice, said, "If he _chooses_ someone, then, if the legend is true, he will attempt to drag them down to his dark kingdom to become _his_ for all eternity."

Alfred went rigid; Matthew paled. After a long silence, Alfred spoke first. "Can we kill him?"

"I doubt it," Kiku said. "I saw only a glow in the water and I threw my strongest attacks. The water absorbed them easily."

"What if we lure him to shore?" Alfred said, voice gravelly. "I won't go anywhere without a fight."

"We can't let him take my idiot brother," Matthew said. Alfred opened his mouth to object, but Matthew continued, "Does he have any weakness? What if we leave the road and get far from the river?"

"We may not need to fight," Kiku said. "We're only a day from the end of his territory. Those stone markers we passed three nights ago showed where it began."

"That's what those were?" Alfred blurted out, flashing back to an image of moss-overgrown columns.

"He can't leave his territory?" Matthew asked.

"From what I understand, he never has," Kiku said. "That's why those markers were built. He only stay to this part of the river."

Matthew breathed a sigh of relief. "Then we keep Al from the river until we're out."

Alfred found himself a little annoyed. He didn't like it when Matthew talked about him in the third person _while_ he was present. It reminded him too much of when Berwald did that.

"We'll set a hard pace tomorrow," Kiku said.

"Then I don't go anywhere near it for nothing. I won't even look at it," Alfred said. "I mean, it's not like he can come out and get me. Can he?"

Matthew looked uncomfortable at the idea and glanced at Kiku who finally said, "I don't think so. I believe he would be vulnerable if he did."

"There you go, Mattie," Alfred said. "Everything will be fine."

"I hope so," Matthew said.

"I'll post two guards outside your tent tonight," Kiku said, rising to his feet. "For now you should rest.

* * *

Alfred could hear an owl hooting and Matthew's slowing breathes. The camp had gone quiet, with the exception of an occasional cough or sneeze from one of the guards outside. For the first time since childhood, Matthew had allowed Alfred to cuddle him. Alfred shifted his arms, resting his chin on the top of Matthew's head, cradling his brother closer. Matthew snuggled tighter to his chest. Alfred caught the scents of soap and maple syrup.

"Mattie," Alfred whispered.

"Uh…" Matthew said with a groan. "Wh-what?"

"Are you awake?"

"I am now." Matthew did not sound pleased about that.

"Good. Coz I wanted to say thanks for this and… well everything."

"Al, couldn't this have waited 'til morning?"

"I'd forget by then." Matthew sighed heavily. "I missed this. You and I being close."

"C-Can't say I did," Matthew gasped, trying push Alfred back. "Space, Al. I c-can't breathe."

"Aww, Mattie, don't be like that." He squeezed tight enough for his brother to yelp, "M-Maple!" and then loosened and scooted back a bit. "You still say that?"

"Only around you. You still cry man tears?"

"Only around you." He knew without see Matthew's face that his brother was smiling at that.

"Your future wife better enjoy her ribs being crushed — I mean _cuddled_ by you."

Without missing a beat, Alfred responded, "And I hope your future husband — I mean _wife_ ," Matthew hit a weak fist against Alfred's chest, "will cuddle you. Coz I know you love it, you softie!"

"Sh-shut up, Al."

"Hey Mattie."

His brother groaned. "Can't we sleep? What now?"

"Are you a virgin?"

Matthew went rigid in his grip and then, after a loaded pause, shoved Alfred back. In a voice, trying to sound threatening and furious, said, "What kind of question is that? That's none of your affair! Wh-what are you thinking about?"

"Lots of things," Alfred said, rolling onto his back and putting his arms behind his head. He missed the loss of Matthew's warmth. His brother's shape, a shadow in the poor lighting, was propped up on his elbow and clearly staring at Alfred. "I've been wondering what is sex like?"

"W-wait… are you… a… a… _You?_ " Matthew seemed incredulous.

"Damn, Mattie, you sound like the Ax," Alfred grumbled. "It's not a big deal"

"B-but…I just thought —"

"Thought what?" Alfred interrupted. "That I'm a guy and should only want a meaningless _fuck?_ "

"I-I didn't… say that. I-I'm a guy too!"

Alfred went onto his side, putting his back to his brother. "When the Ax found out last year, he joked, 'Aww… does widdle Awfie not know what his dick is for?' So he got me drunk and locked me in a room with a prostitute — a _very_ aggressive prostitute — who tried to tie me up. He had told her I might attempt to escape."

"Th-that sounds like something our cousin would do," Matthew admitted. "S-so… what happened?"

"No one ties this hero down," Alfred said. "I jumped out a window."

"You wh-what?"

"It was a three stories fall. Luckily, the inn was beside a river. Sopping wet and dripping, I found our cousin and yelled 'I'm gonna kill you'."

"You hit the A-ax?" Matthew squeaked.

"Nah, he deflected my blows. Thought I was roughhousing. It was like the reverse of that time when we were boys and you tried to beat me up. Man, that was funny." Alfred chuckled at the memory.

"And I almost felt sorry for and _then_ you bring that up. Really Al?"

"I tried to tell him I wanted my first time to be special and he laughed, 'I know how you feel. Mine was _real_ special. A threesome'."

Matthew gave a soft laugh and then they were quiet for a while. Alfred thought Matthew had drifted off when his brother said, "Al?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you something and you please not laugh?"

"I can promise I'll try."

"N-never mind."

"All right. I promise."

"Y-you swear?" His voice quavered.

"Cross my heart."

"Our cousin did the same to me."

"What?" Alfred said, sitting up and facing Matthew. "He what?"

"C-calm down. I was fifteen and he was visiting Toronto. He decided I need an _intervention_."

"That bastard." Alfred shook his fist, imagining punching his cousin's wide mouth. "So… you lost it? Your virginity? Before me?" _Damn._

"N-not exactly. And it's not a competition, Al. I…I… um…" his voice dropped to a whisper, " _got sucked off._ "

Alfred blinked and then grinned. "You did? How was it?"

"Weren't you angry about… n-never mind," Matthew said. "It was good. The prostitute was Polish and had strange English, always using words like 'totally' and 'like'. It g-got… hot a-and then…"

Matthew trailed off and, impatient, Alfred asked, "And what?"

"I noticed an impression in _his_ dress."

It took Alfred a long moment to digest that and he felt his eyebrows climb up his face and his mouth fell open. "You mean you… you! YOU! With a…" He clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the snort of laughter that nearly escaped.

"A-Al, are you all right?"

Alfred let out a whimper, holding his breath as _I will not laugh_ ran in litany in his head. He bit his palm to hold it in. The pain kept it in.

"Are you crying?"

"N-no," Alfred wheezed, tears stinging his eyes from the force of not laughing.

"I should've realized sooner. The adam's apple was sort of a giveaway."

Alfred felt like he was turning blue. It was becoming painful. Finally, when he had to inhale, it burst out and he clutched his stomach, cracking up.

"It's not funny!" Matthew said, hitting his arm. "I was mortified!"

"Sorry," Alfred said, calming down. He rubbed his brother's shoulder. "If it's any comfort, the Ax probably didn't mean to hurt your feelings. He's bragged of sleeping with both men and women. He might've thought that was your preference."

"Gee, Al," Matthew said in an acidic tone. "That makes me feel _so much better!"_

"You're welcome, Mattie," Alfre said, positive his brother was sincerely thanking him.

Matthew harrumphed loudly and then flopped on his side, back to Alfred. "Well, you enjoy sleeping without _cuddles."_

"Mattie, no! That's cruel and unusual punishment," Alfred protested, wiggling closer. He massaged his brother's back. He couldn't resist teasing, "That's _like totally_ mean."

His brother slowly turned and he could feel the other's glare. "Consider your cuddling provisions _revoked_."

"Damn," Alfred said. "Well fine."

And then in an evil voice, Matthew suggested casually, "I hope that ghost doesn't get you."

"Wh-what did you say?" Alfred said, swallowing hard, licking his lips. "It's a nymph. Not a… a… _ghost_."

"Did I leave that part out about nymphs after dark? Pity," Matthew said. Alfred could hear the smile in the other's voice. "Good thing you're an adult now and I'm sure over that silly phobia."

"Y-Yeah. _Totally_." Another smack to his arm. Despite the humidity, he slipped under his blankets held them to his chin. _There are no such things_.

"Sleep well, Al," Matthew said.

Sometimes, Alfred wondered if his brother wasn't part Devil.

"Don't worry, Mattie, your hero will protect you. Don't forget to back me up."

Matthew snickered and Alfred smiled, but slid under the sheets just to be safe. It really was like old times.

* * *

Something nudged his foot.

Alfred had slept lightly that night, dreaming of his imaginary friend from childhood, Tony. As a boy he invented Tony, a little gray man who came from the stars and had insect-like eyes, and Tony's adventures traveling the sea of stars on a cloud whale. Matthew had always been delighted by then, even if he called them silly.

It was rare he dreamed of Tony anymore and it was a happy dream, so when someone shook him, Alfred rolled out of reach.

"A little longer," He mumbled, still mostly asleep.

After a pause, that _annoying_ someone pinched the skin of his shin and he yelped, sitting up. "Who?" Alfred snapped, startled to see Matthew's shape crouched near the tent flap. It was still dark, but the grey light on the canvas walls suggested dawn was not far off.

Matthew's eyebrows were turned down at the sides and he said anxiously, "A-Al, look."

"At what?" Alfred asked, crawling over to where Matthew held open the flap. His leg ached dully, but not as sharp as last night. "I don't see anything."

"That's the problem," Matthew said.

Alfred rubbed at his bleary eyes and then realized what was wrong with what he saw. He should see tents, cold campfires, soldiers sleeping around in bedrolls, the river and trees beyond. What he saw was nothing. Nothing at all. Just a thick, grey wall of fog. Curls of it oozed into the tent.

He stuck his head out, glancing around in amazement. Only one of the guards, a diminished shape, barely a shadow, could be seen. There were sounds — the trickle of the river, birds twittering, men moving about — but they sounded strange in the mist. It tasted damp and smelled like the river.

Alfred held out his hand, watching at it faded, fingertips becoming near invisible. Driven by another urge, he said in a tight voice, "This is bad."

"I know. I've been watching it roll in for an hour," Matthew said.

"No. I mean, I gotta piss," Alfred said, squirming. "And I don't wanna go out in that. It looks evil."

Matthew sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Shit, taking my chances before I piss my pants," Alfred said, scrambling past Matthew and shoving on his boots.

"I-I'll come too," Matthew said, grabbing his shoes.

"C'mon," Alfred said, stamping his foot into one of his boots. He danced a bit as Matthew seemed to take his time. Matthew didn't even have a shoe fully on when Alfred grabbed his brother's wrist and dragged him after.

"A-Al!" Matthew said. "Just two seconds!"

But Alfred couldn't wait. Some things can't wait. Even if you have to brave an evil fog to take care of them. And as they found a private spot, Alfred couldn't help but be reminded of another foggy day: the day he and Matthew reunited in Tokyo Bay

* * *

(Uh-oh what could be causing this fog? And will escape be so easy for our intrepid hero?)

TBC… in " **Hidden In Grey"**


	7. EXCERPT

**Note -** Since it's taking time to get to the US/ Uk I thought I'd give a sample to readers of what is to come. This from about three to four chapters a way. However, without the set-up you might be really curious and puzzled about this situation. It will make sense when the story gets here. )

* * *

 **Excerpt From A Later Chapter**

* * *

"Crikey, you are a strapping lad," Arthur said, his fingers gliding up Alfred's leg.

Alfred, still stuck to the table, yelled, "Get yours hand off me! You better let me up! Or I swear I'll -"

"You'll what?" Arthur interrupted, smirking in amusement. He placed his hand further up, on Alfred's upper thigh, fingers curled around the inside, massaging uncomfortably close to a very intimate area on Alfred.

"I'll rip your damn head off!" Alfred snarled, unable to move. That invisible force held him down. "Stop that! This is all your fault!"

"My fault? A shame your thick in the head," Arthur sighed, giving Alfred's leg a painful squeeze before he let go. "You sir," Arthur pointed at Alfred, "have caused me loads of trouble. This whole situation has become one big cock-up. I should by rights box those pretty ears of yours!"

"What the hell do you keep saying?" Alfred snapped. "Do you speak English or not?"

"I speak proper Queen's tongue!" Arthur puffed out his lean chest like a proud peacock on display. "You're the git that blathers on on in that foul drek you call English. Who taught you to speak that way?"

"This is my mother's tongue. My _actual_ mother's tongue. It's how we were taught English."

Arthur sniffed, raising his chin.

"Can I get up now?" Alfred asked.

"I'll consider it," Arthur said that sly grin returning. Alfred didn't like how Arthur was eyeing him. Then Arthur placed a hand on Alfred's side and leaned over until their faces were dangerously close. "What say we have a good shag first?"

* * *

( **Note -** If you can't tell they don't get along very well at first. Arthur is a scoundrel.)


	8. Hidden In Grey

(I cut a lot of things that I'll explain later in flashbacks. Matthew and Alfred were not on good terms when they reunited. They had a terrible fight when they separated as children. I decided to show that later and rush to the Arthur stuff. Big action begins at the end. Brace yourself.)

* * *

 **Hidden In Grey**

After the ship had been eased into its resting place and secured to the pier, the gangway was lowered. In the thick, roiling fog it seemed to lead out into nowhere. Alfred could hear a cacophony of noises both distant and near — the crew preparing goods to be unloaded, the sails being furled, a couple gulls crying out overhead, seawater sloshing against the pier and the sides of the ship, the far-off sounds of fishermen in the harbor and of a market somewhere on shore.

The air stunk of brine and fish. Alfred breathed it in, eager to be on land and to see his brother. Kiku's messenger bird had returned with a reply from Matthew saying he would be waiting here.

One stout crewman near the ramp, almost dropped his basket of wheat when Alfred, cupping his hands around his mouth, hollered, "Heeeeey Mattie! You down there? The hero is here!"

"A-Al?" a soft voice called.

"Mattie!" Alfred grinned, barreling down the ramp which groaned under his heavy footsteps. He landed with with a thump on the thick planks and darted past stacks of crates and baskets, running several feet down the length of the pier before he stopped and called again, "Mattie?"

"Al?" Matthew's voice came from behind. The mist allowed only a couple feet of visibility. "You ran past me!"

"Huh?" Alfred scratched the back of his head in confusion, before backtracking. He glanced around. "Mattie? Where are you? I can't see you in this fog."

"Would you stop running past me! You nearly knocked me off!" Matthew said sourly. "I'm not invisible!"

A finger tapped angrily on Alfred's shoulder. He spun around to see his brother's rounder face, less firm at the edge's than Alfred's, but it was him. He had softer edges to his frame and a droop to his stance.

For a moment Alfred was struck with surprise at Matthew's attire: a white robe with dark red pinstripes, each of which was accented with azure blue and dark brown arrows. Beneath that he wore dark red pants and white stocks, split at the toe and wooden sandals that made him taller than Alfred.

"Mattie!" Alfred scooped him up in a bear hug and swung his protesting brother around. "You're here! You're really here!"

"A-Al! We'll fall!"

"It's so good to see you again! Man, I've missed you." He let his brother down, waiting for 'I missed you too'.

Instead Matthew asked, "Is General Kiku on board?"

"Y-Yeah," Alfre said, frowning a little. "He said we should go ahead without him. He'll take care of things. I can't wait to see Tokyo and try that sushi stuff. Your letters were awesome."

"You shouldn't eat too much. We have a feast waiting for us. And please don't gawk at everything."

"Okay…" Alfred's grin lessened. "Um… hey have you gone native or something?" Alfred circled Matthew eyeing him up and down. "You're dressed in a bathrobe."

Matthew blushed and said in a flustered tone, "It's not a bath robe. It's a kimono for men and the sandals are called _geta_."

"You must fall on your face a lot in those."

"I do not. W-we should go," Matthew said.

"All right, Mer… was it Mark?" Alfred joked. As children he used to pretend not to remember Matthew's name. It was an old gag, but Matthew gave him a sharp, resentful look.

"You haven't changed," Matthew said, sounding a tad hurt. Then he walked past Alfred who had pictured their reunion going a lot differently.

"Sure!" Alfred chirped, refusing to let their reunion be ruined the way their departure was. Deep down, however, he wondered why Matthew was being so… moody. _I thought we were past that. I thought it was water under the bridge._

Alfred was beginning to suspect that Matthew was not over things.

* * *

The fog had thinned under the heat of the sun that shone bare in the sky. Alfred rode Liberty, gloved hand resting on the jeweled pommel of his broad sword, a pace behind Matthew and Kiku who were side by side, their back just visible. The mists moved and parted in great drifts and smoky wisps.

Although Alfred could not see the river, it was ever on his mind and increasingly it was all he could think about. The urge to gallop into it spread like a cancer through his will.

 _No_ , he told himself.

He felt increasingly uneasy, but not from the river, as from a feeling of approaching danger. As if the real threat was ahead rather than beside them. Something inside him screamed, _run. Run now. Back the way you came!_

He ignored that feeling, likely a trick of that devil creature.

Suddenly, the soldiers ahead — ghostly figures in the gloom — halted and so did Kiku, Matthew, and everyone behind them. Kiku frowned and Matthew asked, "Wh-what happened?"

The soldiers split down the middle and a captain came running toward them. He halted before Kiku, bowed deeply from the waist, plates clinking on the side of his helmet, and said, " _Honda-sama, gaikokujin ga ki no shitajiki ni natte imasu. Ki ga michi o fusai demasu._ "

Leaning back in his saddle, Matthew translated, "There's a tree blocking the road and a foreigner pinned under it."

"Who'd travel out here alone?" Alfred wondered aloud.

" _Hai, tobouku o haijou seiyou."_ Kiku said sharply.

" _Wakarimasu_ ," The Captain said and, after a bow, turned and disappeared back into the mist.

"I apologize, but I must go," Kiku said to Alfred and Matthew. He trotted his black warhorse ahead when it began to neigh. Horses ahead started to neigh and whinny.

Then Liberty and Maple bucked and whinnied and stamped their hooves. "Whoa, whoa," Alfred said, attempting to calm his horse. "What…"

His eyes widened. Hair rose over his skin. He felt it. The crackle of an incredible, _unbelievable_ , amount of magic drawing in somewhere ahead. "My God…" his mouth went dry.

As he tried to calm Liberty, he glanced over at Matthew in a similar battle with Maple. The color looked drained from his face. Alfred opened his mouth to speak when a violent tremor shook the ground. He saw the wide-eyed soldiers ahead lower their spears, trying to stay on their feet.

Liberty bucked and fought. Even Kiku struggled with his well-trained warhorse.

"What is it?" Matthew cried.

"What the hell!" Alfred said, terrified. He had never felt anything like that. It was as if the finger of God was descending. His skin tingled with the charge.

Shrill shrieks broke out all around. An impossibly brilliant light blazed out, blinding even through the fog; Alfred threw up his hands to shield himself from that intense heat. Soldiers howled in agony.

"Mattie! Run!" Alfred cried, unable to calm Liberty. He could hear Matthew and Kiku's voice, but could not understand them in all the noise.

"Ma—," he was cut-off when Liberty reared up, throwing Alfred off. He landed hard on his back; the wind knocked out of him. Rolling onto all fours, he attempted several times to stand, shielding his eyes with one hand and reaching blindly for Liberty's reins with the other.

He couldn't see.

"A-Al!" Matthew shouted.

"Mattie!" He rasped, voice barely audible in his own ears. He tried to gulp in air.

"AL!"

The increasingly violent quaking knocked Alfred back to his knees; his fingers bit dirt, tearing trenches in the soil as he grasped for anything to hold.

"Mattie!" He stumbled in the direction of Matthew's voice, half-crawling, half-stumbling. Screaming soldiers ran by, one nearly colliding against Alfred as he fled.

The air sizzled and crackled; the earth groaned. That power drew inward, winding into the most intense concentration of magic he had ever felt. It made him sick and want to vomit. Power broiled in the air, warping the air itself. Sound was distorted.

 _What is this?_ His heart hammered.

The dust, grass, and air itself were sucked toward the power. Alfred's feet slid forward; he struggled to hold his stance. He realized what was about to happen.

"Mattie! Shield yourself!" Alfred rasped, breaking into coughing. Alfred grabbed the pommel, drawing in all he could from his source, racing to construct a barrier spell as fast as he could.

And then, with a sound like a sigh, it all exploded outward. Screams were cut-off. Alfred ran, his shield almost ready. He felt a warm breeze at his back, then the blast hit, lifting him up. After an airborne moment, his side smacked into something, left temple connecting, and everything went dark.

* * *

 **Next Time :**

Alfred wakes in a nightmare. Dust and debris float through the mist-shrouded landscape that's been turned into a warzone. Bodies and body parts both human and horse litter the ground. Who could have survived this? What could have done this?

Then things take a shocking turn when the culprit reveals themselves in… " **The Foe In The Mist"**.)


	9. The Foe In The Mist

( **Note —** Last chapter had a harsher jump than intended because I cut scenes — the fight between Al and Matt; Kiku's background with Yao and the death of Kiku's family — for later flashbacks. This chapter has some big surprises. We're getting very close to the UK/ US stuff. In this chapter you meet the villain.)

* * *

 **The Foe In The Mist**

* * *

The coughing and the pain forced Alfred to consciousness, tearing him out of the bliss of not knowing, not feeling. Everything hurt. His world was pain and ash. There was an acrid scent of burning flesh in the air; all he could taste was dust and blood.

He lifted his arm with effort and covered his mouth, coughing into the crook. Breathing was a labor, as was seeing. Grit stung his eyes. Slowly his vision cleared, unfolding a nightmare before him.

What had happened?

His mind reeled, struggling to accept this as real. Although visibility through the dust and fog was less than a few feet, it was enough to see bodies, their parts, and debris strewn about. Particles of dirt and grass hung in the air, as if the lingering magic refused to let them settle.

The ringing in his ears could not muffle the distant screams of the dying, the soon to be dying, and a strange fizzling sound that came from far ahead. Soldiers were still fighting something, _or someone_ , Alfred realized, picturing an army of sorcerers. No, not even a thousand could not have unleashed this.

In the back of his mind, his thoughts uttered, _Godcraft._

No, that was not possible, Alfred thought. Such weapons were legends, said to have been taken when the elves departed this realm.

Clutching at the oak — the one he'd been tossed against and likely shattered a rib on — he rose to his feet, knees threatening to buckle. He clenched his teeth and grabbed the pommel of his sword, drawing from his source. It gave him strength and numbed the pain enough that he could walk.

He took a step, partly limping. His armor was battered and Alfred was covered from head to toe in dirt. Colors were more vivid in Alfred's shell-shocked vision, but all he could see were ashen hues.

"Mattie," he breathed, forcing himself forward. With each step, it became easier and the pain lessened.

Alfred prayed his brother had shielded, had survived this, and fared better than the dead lying around. A wave of dizziness nearly sent Alfred to his knees, but he powered on, tempted to unbuckled his belt and let the weight of his sword slide to the ground. He touched his temple and pulled back his fingers to see the pads smeared with blood.

"Mattie," he rasped, throat choked with dust. "Mattie!"

Burst of white flashed ahead, followed by grisly sounds and more low booms and tremors. The attack was far from over and he knew he needed to run.

 _I have to find Mattie_ , he reminded himself.

A large lump became clearer until he recognized his saddle and poor mutilated Liberty. He wanted to fall beside her, pat her neck, and wish her soul the best, but there was no time. Alfred stopped only to take his dagger out of the side saddle and tuck it into his belt, then he stumbled on like a blind man finding his way in what was left of the road.

He stepped over gashed earth, past the fallen, past strange blood splatters, as if some had just exploded, and cupped a hand around his mouth calling as loud as he could, "Mattie! Mattie!"

Finally, to his relief, he heard a faint, "A-Al?"

He hurried toward it, knowing that voice anywhere. "Mattie! Where are you?"

"Over here! Hurry!" There was urgency in Mattie's voice and sorrow.

A bleeding soldier stumbled by Alfred, not slowing or pausing, half his face was ruined and the other half was naked with terror. He was fleeing something; that sight added urgency to Alfred's steps. Whatever was ahead was coming this way.

A faint orange glow drew Alfred to his brother, who appeared out of the fog, formed hunched over something. He could sense Matthew desperately using his emblem.

"M-Mattie, we have to go," Alfred said, grabbing his brother's shoulder. Matthew's tear-streaked face, looked up, his face covered in grime that his tears had left grooves through. His once fine leather armor was singed and tattered. The emblem and Matthew's hand blazed with orange light. His brother's lap was splattered with blood, but not his own.

"H-He saved me…" Matthew trailed off in a sob.

Alfred almost recoiled at the sight of what realized was Kiku's mangled and burnt body, held together by Matthew's desperate healing. It was hard to believe this had been human once. The devastation was massive, Kiku's left side from the chest down had been blown off. Alfred realized with disgust that Kiku's leg was lying nearby.

"Mattie." Alfred swallowed hard, squeezing his brother's shoulder. "It's too late."

"I can save him!" Matthew said. "If I had… I need more magic. Another source." He glanced at Alfred's sword. "Pl-please! He shielded me!"

More screams. More of those strange noises and flashes ahead, but now getting very close.

"There's no time," Alfred said. Matthew shrugged him off. He grabbed Matthew's chin, looking at that haggard face face. "You've busted your limits! Your drawing past your source! You're killing yourself."

"I have to! He'll die!"

"He's already dead! Look at him."

"I can't," Matthew cried.

Kiku's remaining eye fluttered open and his lips, mostly intact creased into a faint smile. "Lord Alfred? Is that you?"

"Kiku!" Matthew said. "Hang on. I'll save you!"

"Let go," Kiku said, blood bubbling out of his mouth. "It's… over." His voice was weakening.

"N-No," Matthew said.

"Kiku," Alfred said.

Kiku lifted his hand and touched Matthew's. "Stop."

"No. It's not fair!"

"Stop," Kiku whispered, voice fading. "My chil…dren…wait…for…"

He never finished. It was as if a candle was blown out in his eyes. His hand flopped down and, though the smile remained on his face, his pupils dilated.

"No! No! No!" Matthew screamed, struggling as Alfred pulled him away. The emblem's power winked out. "Kiku!"

"Mattie! Snap out of it! We've gotta go!"

Matthew sagged in his grip, falling against him. His brother had drained himself. Now he could barely walk. Alfred slung Matthew's arm over his shoulder and started to drag Matthew who stumbled along.

A soldier burst out of the fog, screaming and then, the ground shook and bright white slash of pure energy ripped toward him, shredding the ground, and sawed him in two. His blood spritzed Alfred and Matthew who tensed in shocked.

The soldier's upper torso lay, twitching and in its dying throws as blood leaked out.

Alfred let go of Matthew, spinning around and drawing his sword; he sensed the cast before he saw it. Throwing up the fastest shield he had ever woven, a white slash slammed into it, shattering it and knocking him back a pace.

Matthew stood shakily, wide-eyed.

There was no escape; he would have to fight now. His sword, Eagle, hummed with power. And then a chilling laughter rang out ahead of them as a shape appeared, one that walked in a relaxed manner. The milky-white light of their sword was visible first.

"Well, well, well," said a voice, all to familiar, one that caused Alfred's tongue to cleave to the roof his mouth. _Impossible_ , Alfred thought, unable to believe _who_ he saw emerge. Two glowing red eyes one a pale face with silvery white hair. A face that grinned, yet there was something hollow and empty of mirth. "Hello, Alfred. You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"Gilbert…" Alfred breathed, heart racing. He shook his head in denial. It was his former mentor, friend, and near-brother. Gilbert wore a white tabard and chainmail, both pristine, and carried, with one hand, a giant cross-shaped sword — not the blade Gilbert once carried.

A new one with silver etchings on the glowing blade, a hilt cast with gold accents and bronze inlays of wolves. The disk shaped pommel framed a Templar Cross.

That sword channeled an incredible amount of power. There could be no mistake that Gilbert was in possession of a Godcraft — how or where he obtained it who knew — but he had an actual Godcraft.

"Your casting has improved. I'm impressed, but then again you had an _awesome_ teacher," Gilbert said, halting a couple paces away. He had a faint, reddish aura around him. His eyes glittered with malice and there was something _empty_ in them. "And an awesome friend. One who would have died for you… if you… you…" Gilbert's face contorted into a snarl and then he calmed, that skewed smile returning. "Let's not dwell on the past."

"You were dead," Alfred said. "They told me…"

Gilbert threw his head back, laughing, an insane sound that echoed around. It was a cackle of a man beyond on reason, on the edge of insanity. "Now Alfred, you should know you can't kill this much awesome. No one can."

"Al," Matthew said, clutching at Alfred's sleeve with a trembling hand. His voice quavered in terror, his face had turned white. "He's wielding the Gram Sword."

 _The Gram Sword… that can't…my God._

"Ah, Mattie. Good to see you. How you've grown," Gilbert chuckled darkly, hefting the blade. "So you recognize this beauty. Read it from scroll or text, did you? You always were a keen one." He pointed the tip of the blade at Matthew. "You'll have the honor of dying by its awesome power."

"Mattie, run!" Alfred said, stepping in front to shield his brother.

"Running? There's no escaping. Any last words?" And Gilbert slashed downward, throwing far more lethal blast of magic. It hurtled at them.

* * *

( **Note —** What's this? Ally turned foe? What's Gilbert so pissed about and how has he become so powerful? Do the brothers stand a chance against such a power? Alfred may be saved by a most unexpected ally…

TBC in… **"Impossible Victory"** )

* * *

(The majority of the flashbacks tell the story of the villain. Alfred and Gilbert became close once, like brothers. Gilbert was his battle-casting mentor. Then something terrible happened… what could have ruined Gilbert?)

(The Gram Sword, while not as known as _Excalibur,_ is every bit as legendary. According to Nordic legend, it was forged by Volund. It was shattered in battle while Sigmund wielded it and reforged by his son Sigurd into a sword so strong it could cleave an anvil in two.)


	10. Impossible Victory

( **Acknowledgements:** Thank you **Arya Scarlett 15, Dangara 2610, The Story Siren, Pholly-Da,** and **NyleveLlom** for your lovely reviews)

* * *

 **Impossible Victory**

* * *

Moving by instinct, Alfred shoved Matthew aside at the same time he slashed down with his sword; his poorly-woven shield shattered on impact with Gilbert's attack, both flashing brightly. It was enough to divert it searing past Alfred and disappearing into the fog.

"Mattie, run!" Alfred yelled, grabbing his brother's sleeve and dragging him to his feet. "Go!"

His shocked brother didn't move.

"There's nowhere to run," Gilbert said, feinting an attack. Alfred tensed; Gilbert laughed.

While Alfred panted and struggled to stand, Gilbert looked like he hadn't even broken a sweat. How much power did he have? "Dammit, Mattie! Get out of here! I can't fight if you're here!"

"I can h-help," Matthew said, looking about to pass out.

"No, you can't! You've no weapon! You're too drained. Use your head!" Alfred snapped, shifting his gaze enough to briefly lock eyes with his brother. In a lower voice, he added, " _Back me up, Mattie._ "

Finally, Matthew got the message. He nodded and took off, stumbling into the mists. Another slash whirred at him and Alfred narrowly deflected it.

"Gil, this is between you and me!" Alfred said, blinking the sweat out of his eyes, trying not to show how exhausted he was. He swallowed hard, throat feeling dry as a bone. It was hard to stay focused. He drew on what remained of the magic in his jeweled pommel. There was maybe enough for one more shield. Maybe.

Gilbert's glared fixed solely on Alfred and he began to circle him. Alfred kept his blade raised at an angle between them as his former teacher eyed him up and down, sizing him up.

The sword, that Gilbert held with one hand, was clearly meant as a two-handed weapon, yet the Prussian held it with ease. He tapped the tip lazily to Alfred's, a metal sound ringing out. Then he lowered, it shaking his head.

"My, my, you've grown tall. You were a beanpole once."

"And you've gotten ugly as fuck and a lot less awesome," Alfred spat.

"Not possible." Gilbert chuckled. As he went round Alfred, he steadily grew closer and glided his blade against Alfred's tip, in almost a loving manner. "When I've finished with you, I'll hunt your brother down and have _fun_ with him."

"You won't touch him!" Alfred cried, batting away Gilbert's blade, he stepped forward to slash downward and crack open Gilbert's head. However, Gilbert backed out of the downward arc with ease and knocked Alfred's blade to the ground, stepped on it, holding it there, and then stepped in, elbowing Alfred in the face so hard Alfred fell backwards onto the ground.

For a moment, stars danced in his vision. A trickle of blood ran from his nostril into his mouth. He scrambled to his feet, eyeing his sword, sure this was the end as Gilbert bent down and picked it up. To his astonishment, Gilbert held it out to Alfred handle first.

"Well, go on. Take it," Gilbert said. Alfred looked unsure. "I won't kill you yet. I want to play first."

Snatching the blade's handle, Alfred quickly backed up a couple steps, wiping blood of his upper lip. "You always did fight dirty."

"Al," Gilbert tutted, circling him again. "I keep telling you there is no such thing as a clean fight. You fight to win or you die. Consider this our final lesson. What do you say we duel without magic?"

"Why?" Alfred asks suspiciously. His eyes narrowed. He didn't trust Gilbert not to cheat, but he couldn't take more of those blasts.

"Because I'm awesome like that. And what choice do you have? You're dead already," Gilbert said.

"Fine," Alfred said. "No magic."

 _Mattie, hurry up_ ," he thought. He needed to stall.

"Why are you doing this Gilbert? Weren't we like family?"

"Family? Ha!" Gilbert threw back his head, laughing. His eyes glowed that wicked read. "None of your family knows the meaning of that word. Loyalty escapes you."

"Gil! It was an accident! I'd have switched with Eliza—."

Gilbert darted forward slashing upward, almost knocking Alfred's blade from his hand and stabbed at Alfred's throat. It was only by instinct that Alfred dodged right, the cold steel edge of the Gram grazing his throat, and leap back a foot. Gilbert reverted to his casual stance, as if none of that happened.

Alfred touched his throat, eyes widening to touched a thin line of blood. He had almost died just then. This wasn't entirely play. Gilbert intended to kill him.

"Consider that a warning," Gilbert said darkly. They circled each other, assessing one another for an opening. "If you _ever_ speak her name with that foul tongue of yours, I will rip it out and make a coat from your skin. You shouldn't be alive. That's the _accident._ "

Gilbert tapped their tips together, beginning to feint and test Alfred's reactions. He was trying to get into Alfred's head, confuse him. And it was working.

"What's the matter, Al? Did the widdle hero prince never fight for real?" Gilbert taunted. He knew Alfred hadn't. No one had wanted to endanger their Prince.

 _In any fight, you must choose to attack or defend_ , Gilbert had once said. _If you attack you must move faster, you have to confuse your opponent. If he knows your attack, you are dead._

Alfred hoped Matthew wouldn't let him down.

"Big man," Alfred taunted. "Fighting with a godcraft! How'd you manage that trick?"

"None of your business." Gilbert grinned coldly. "The better question is how did I find you? You can thank your father for that. He'll be joining you soon in the afterlife."

Alfred went cold inside. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"I needed his blood to track you. You know the spell. And he tried so hard to get you to safety."

"As if you could defeat him!" Alfred shouted. _Even if with a godcraft_ , Alfred wanted to say, but he wasn't so confident of that. "You're lying!"

"Am I?" Gilbert started to moving faster around and more erratically, setting Alfred on edge. "I could've killed him. But I wanted him to first know what it feels like to lose everyone you love."

"I don't believe you!" Alfred said, shaking his head. "It's not possible! The Ax w—."

"—is dead. And so is Lord Lukas," Gilbert finished, leaving Alfred's head spinning. _No_. It couldn't be true. "They fell attempting to protect your precious Grisholm Castle. Oh, you haven't heard? Word doesn't travel fast out here I guess."

"Liar!" Alfred roared, lunging forward, bringing his blade down. The sound of steel rang out as Gilbert parried with the flat of his blood. Alfred shoved, thrusting and slashing, trying to get a hit. "Shut up! Just shut up!"

Suddenly, Gilbert sidestepped and the force of Alfred's momentum sent him forward, exposing his back. Gilbert painfully grabbed Alfred's nape and body-slammed Alfred onto his knee. It smashed hard, knocking the air from Alfred who crumpled to the ground, gasping for air.

"Pathetic," Gilbert sneered, using his boot's heel to shove Alfred onto his side and then kicked him relentlessly in his ribcage, hitting the broken one repeatedly until he felt another crack. More spots danced in Alfred's vision. He tasted blood in his mouth.

Stepping away, Gilbert pointed the tip of the Gram at Alfred who froze, sure this was the end. _I'm sorry, Mattie._ Lukas, the Ax, and his home could not be gone. He refused to believe it.

 _And he tried so hard to get you away from me_ , those words echoed in Alfred's mind, too painful to dwell on.

"Get up," Gilbert ordered. "Pick up your blade and get up."

Alfred slammed his hand into the ground and forced himself up, blinded by pain. Somehow he stood, wiping blood from his chin with the back of his hand, and lifted his sword.

"Ungh," Alfred gurgled, breathing incredibly difficult. The sword shook in his grip as he pointed it toward Gilbert. He could not hold it steady.

"You were an awful student," Gilbert said. "What did I say about letting an opponent in your head?"

"You were… an… awful teacher," Alfred wheezed, each word a struggle.

"I'm bored," Gilbert said with a heavy sigh. He lifted the blade up; it hummed white, drawing in for a large attack — one Alfred had no chance to stop. "You won't dodge this."

Alfred's eyes widened and —

From behind Gilbert surged a succession of blue bolts. The first knocked the Gram from his hand and he cried out in pain, and the others forced Gilbert to retreat away a couple paces.

 _Good work, Mattie!_

His brother had found Kiku's katana and managed to almost hit Gilbert. His brother had aimed where he felt the magic being drawn.

Using his chance, Alfred darted in and grabbed the Gram, holding it up and backing away; it tingled in his arm. Fury etched Gilbert's features, then suddenly he grinned and returned to that relaxed posture. "Clever. However, the Gram will not work for you. I'm its master."

"I see," Alfred said and then spun around and released it flying in the direction of the river. He heard a satisfying _ker-plunk_. _"_ Hope you can swim, asshole. You've no source."

A muscle twitched in Gilbert's cheek and he started to laugh — _cackle_ — and then breathed in and out very deeply. "Now you've done it." His voice sounded like steel hidden by silk. "You think I can be separated so easily from the Gram's magic? Idiot."

And in a blur of motion, faster than a human should be able to move, Gilbert was suddenly in front of Alfred. Everything happened in slow motion as Gilbert put his palm against Alfred's abdomen.

Just as Gilbert said, "Goodbye, Al," there was a blinding flash that shot from Gilbert's hand at point-blank range. In that fleeting instance, Alfred realized how much Gilbert had been toying with him.

Letting him have a speck of hope only to crush it.

The explosive force blew a hole through Alfred, sending his innards out and while he did not look directly down, or even feel pain from it — his mind refusing to feel it — there was awareness. A terrible awareness of emptiness where his insides should have been.

The force of the blast flung Alfred's backwards, off his feet. Gilbert's leering face shrunk, faded, and vanished into the mist. Alfred rocketed backwards, skidding across grass, across water, like a skipping stone. He landed with a splash.

For a moment he lay there; his insides flooding with river water. Words he could never say bottled in his throat as he thought of Matthew, of his home, and the father he would never see again. In all the grand adventures he had planned, death had never factored in.

Somewhere in his flight, he had lost his sword. He didn't know where, but it was no longer in his hand. His legs no longer obeyed and he could not feel them.

The weight of his armor dragged him down, the cool water devouring him. The grey sky seemed to come through a fractured pane of glass as he sunk. So far, so beautiful. Never to be seen again.

Pressure built in his ears. Silver bubbles trailed from his mouth. Down, down he went until he hit bottom, landing among the stalks of seaweed, kicking up silty puffs. He raised a hand toward the surface, thinking of his poor brother who was up there playing cat and mouse with a madman.

The river bottom would be Alfred's grave. The fish would nibble his corpse. How he regretted not being kinder to his brother. How he regretted never hugging his father and at least saying, 'I love you' even if the man ignored it. So many regrets.

His blood stained the water dark around him.

 _I'm sorry, Mattie. This is goodbye_ , he thought, shutting his eyes.

 _Love, it's time_ , said a musical voice in his head.

His eyes popped open, startled to see that ghostly face hovering over him. _Arthur!_ He realized, eyes widening. A burst of bubbles spewed from his mouth as he tried to speak.

 _Save my brother! I beg you! I'll do anything!_ He tried to say.

Arthur floated towards him, hair floating about his head. With soft, cool hands, he cupped Alfred's cheeks, smirking, and brought their faces together.

Alfred went rigid in shock as those cold lips pressed to his, swallowing his pleas, forcing his mouth to open wider in a needy kiss. Soothing energy coursed down his throat from the nymph.

Those emerald's eyes shut. One of Arthur's hands strokes the side of Alfred's head like a lover might and the other crept around to the nape, forcing Alfred's face closer into a deeper kiss.

He didn't know if it was the strange magic invading him or Arthur himself, but Alfred tasted mint. Waves of dizziness racked him and his eyelids started to droop.

The kiss felt so soft, so comforting.

 _No, Mattie_ , part of him cried.

He grabbed weakly at the nymph's wrists in an attempt to pry Arthur off. Arthur held firm, ravishing Alfred's lips, forcing more power down his throat.

 _The Kingdom can save you_ , Arthur said.

 _But Mattie…_ Alfred thought.

Shadows and ice engulfed him. With their cold touch his mind fell away, down into an abyss. His last fleeting sensation was the touch of Arthur's skin, and Alfred's own clenched fingers loosening and falling away from Arthur's wrists.

Then he was lost.

* * *

 **Next Time:**

In a place neither here nor there, full of shadows and decay, Alfred wakes. A boy who struggles to remember his own name awaits to lead Alfred to Arthur.

TBC in… **"The Kingdom** "

* * *

(What you've all waited for is nearly here. *whew* Only took almost 18,000 words to set things up. But once we're here lots of UK/US goodness will follow. Lots and lots I swear! I think I'm gonna take a bit of a break from this story to work on some things I've been neglecting. But don't worry I will be back to this!)


	11. The Kingdom

**The Kingdom**

The rank odor of mildew and rot roused Alfred. His nose crinkled and he wanted to gag from the stench.

Alfred sat up in a bed, running a hand over the stiff sheets and covers. At first he believed himself back home in his four-poster bed in Grisholm Castle. But the servants would never have allowed such a smell in the room and they always left one light in his room at night. It had been that way since Matthew left because Alfred had trouble sleeping otherwise.

This room was pitch black and somewhere nearby he could hear the steady _plink-plink_ of dripping water. He threw off the cover, shivering from the chill dampness of the room.

Images of his battle with Gilbert flashed through his head and he grabbed at his stomach, patting at it, shocked to find no sign of injury and that he had been dressed in some sort of long night gown.

"Mattie," he called, his voice echoed around what had to be a large, lofty room. He cringed inwardly when the damp rug squelched under his bare feet. Had something leaked onto it? "Mattie! Are you there?"

Silence.

He felt his way forward by gliding a hand along the edge of the bed. _Where are my clothes?_ he wondered, it felt breezy down there without undergarments on.

For a brief instant, he hoped it had all been a nightmare. Then he heard the soft, shuffling patter of feet from outside the room.

"Hello? Who's there?" he called. "Can you tell me where I am?"

A golden light grew steadily brighter outlining the wide frame of an open doorway. Someone was coming. Rushing towards it, feet soon padding over grime-covered flagstones, he entered a long stone corridor, one that extended in either direction, and was startled to find a boy, no older than twelve, coming towards him.

Upon seeing Alfred, the lean boy halted, surprise flitting across his thin face. His dark blue eyes regarded Alfred with a dull, glassy look. They matched the boy's blue neck tie with tails and his capris.

The boy had rather bushy eyebrows shaded by the black rim of his sailor hat, from which a patch of cobweb hung like a veil, one that did not seem to irritate the boy. His white sailor shirt, like all his garments, was riddled with stains, tears, and more cobwebs.

Lifting the glass lantern in his hand higher, its circle of light constricting around his feet, the boy stated, "You're awake."

Hoping to see his clothes, Alfred spared a glance in his room. There were dark draperies hanging on the walls, all covered in mold and cobwebs. The general furniture was profuse, antique, and tattered. A layer of dust covered the floor, showing — he realized with unease — other sets of footprints. Mists of dust particles floated in the air.

When Alfred turned back, the boy had already begun walking away, taking the sole source of light with him.

"The Jerk is waiting," the boy said in a voice empty of emotion.

"Hey wait," Alfred said, catching up, he grabbed the boy's shoulder, surprised how cold and stiff it felt. Was the kid flesh and blood? He shivered to think about it. "Who's the jerk?"

"The one who brought us here. The one who waits for you." The boy tried to shrug Alfred off.

"Do you mean Arthur? That river nymph? Is he the Jerk?"

"We mustn't keep him waiting. He won't like that."

"Can he get me out of here? Please. My brother needs me! I have to get back. I'm not supposed to be here. Mattie… he could be…" Alfred swallowed hard, feeling cold at the thought. Was he too late?

"Only the Jerk may use the Door to the Above," Peter said grimly, lowering his head.

 _Door?_ Alfred's heart fluttered, hope welling in his chest. "Where is the Door?"

"In the throne room with the Jerk."

"Lead the way then," Alfred said, releasing the boy who began that slow, yet steady walk again. "How come only Arthur can use this Door?"

"Because this is _his_ world. Built for him."

Alfred wasn't sure what to think of that.

"Hey, what's your name?" Alfred asked, trotting behind, staying out of the shadows. The floor was littered with the most random of things — a rusting music box? A broken harmonica? parts of what might have been a unicorn doll once — and yellowing bits of trash. Mushrooms grew between some of the flagstones.

The blond boy tilted his head in thought. After a few moments with no answer, Alfred said, "Hey, I asked a question. Can't you tell me your name?"

"I forgot again," the boy said mournfully, shoulders slumping forward. "But it started with a P. Yes… definitely a 'puh' sound." He nodded, as if agreeing with his words.

"You're joking, right? How could you not remember your name?" Alfred said, concerned something was wrong with this kid. "So I should call you P or something?" He laughed at the thought.

"We all forget in time," the boy said grimly. "The Forgetting will happen to you as well. Only the Jerk remembers. Only he can remind."

"I won't forget my name," Alfred muttered. This kid seemed confused.

They walked in silenced for a time, passing through odd T-junctions where P would pause, mumbling something too low for Alfred to hear, and then, usually with a nod, choose a direction.

All the ways were lined with doors, some smashed in, some rotted in. In the open ones, Alfred caught glimpses of the strange rooms with furniture arrange in often bizarre patterns — one even had all of its precariously stacked. They all looked eerie and likely candidates for being haunted.

Alfred shuddered, not wanting to think about that. He still vividly remembered the ghost he saw, or what he believed had been a ghost until he was old enough to understand.

"Aren't you cold? It's pretty drafty," Alfred said, hugging himself and rubbing his arms. "Do you know where _my_ clothes are?"

"I don't feel cold anymore. I forgot what it feels like."

"How can you forget _that?"_ Alfred asked skeptically.

"Because that's the price of the Kingdom."

"The Kingdom?"

"This place. No one can die here. No one can age. Nothing ever changes. Only the Forgetting. Don't worry though. That takes time and the Jerk can remind you… for a while. He's the only one who never forgets."

"I won't need reminding because I won't forget," Alfred said, feeling uncomfortable with this conversation. Unfortunately, his curiosity was stronger. "What do you forget?"

"Everything. When its all gone we become like the Others."

"The Others?"

"The ones that don't move. They forget how to," P replied.

"Wh… where are my clothes?" Alfred asked, changing topics.

"Ask the Jerk. He took them when he changed you." That was not the answer Alfred wanted to hear. He felt his face heat in embarrassment at the thought which was strange since people had been dressing him his whole life. Why did the thought of Arthur doing it feel weird? Maybe it was the idea of that nymph touching him while he was unconscious.

 _Yes, that's it_ , Alfred decided.

He blushed, remembering the one thing he'd rather forget, that watery kiss. No one had ever kissed him like that before. All his previous kisses had been rather chaste and had lead nowhere.

Lost in his thoughts, they walked in grim silence for a while.

Slowly Alfred realized the principal feature of the walls was minute fungi that overspread them, that and the sense of crumbling ruin that pervaded everywhere. Water dripped and, in some places, coursed down the walls, eating away the rock imperceptibly but inexorably.

"Wait… didn't we pass that music box earlier?" Alfred said, pointing "I remember that unicorn doll! We've gone in a circle!"

"Oh, it was two rights _then_ a left," P said, sounding like he had discovered some great secret. "Now I remember."

"You were lost?" Alfred groaned. That's what he got for following the boy with memory problems.

"It happens," P said and at the next T-junction they went a different way. "But I remember now."

"I don't feel confident," Alfred admitted.

After a few more turns, another source of light appeared, a faint green one that appeared to come from mold on the wall. The air became fresher, a breeze from ahead blew away what Alfred had been breathing. When they reached the end of the passageway, Alfred gaped at a massive antechamber, visible by walls festooned with that glowing mold. It was a like a subterranean cathedral of sleek black stone. He glanced up, looking for a ceiling, and saw a cavernous blackness that made him dizzy.

"Wow…" he breathed, staying close to P. Their footsteps echoed about, giving an idea of the size.

Ahead was a wide staircase, big enough for thirty to stand abreast on, lined with an elaborate railing with pillars on the bottom. It went up and up, the top of the landing impossible to see here. The steps were cracked and broken in many places. Random things were all over — was that a smashed piano?

This castle held remnants of former glory from different eras. The tarnished crests of forgotten kings adorned walls. Once-lavish trappings had been devoured by dust and decay.

"Am I…Am I dead? Is this hell?" Alfred gulped hard. "I mean.. I tried to be decent enough. I could have teased Mattie less. I could've been nicer at times…I could have at least considered being Mattie's back-up when we played games as children. I didn't think I was bad enough to deserve this."

P halted so suddenly Alfred nearly collided with him. He looked up at Alfred, faced screwed up in thought. "Oh, I was supposed to tell you something if you said that. What was it? Oh!" He brightened, unibrow lifting, "That's right! You're not dead. No, this isn't hell."

"The Jerk told you to say that…? I mean it's a relief, but…do I lot of people ask that when they get here? Let me guess. You don't remember."

P shrugged and continued on.

Before Alfred could notice more, his gaze caught on what sat on the dust-coated first step, leaning against the marble railing, affixed to it by cobwebs: a body. He reached out blindly, clutching P's shoulder when he found it.

"I-Is that a… body?" he gasped. Not that he hadn't seen corpses before, but never like this. Never looking so alive.

The cobwebs did not hide the face, just most of the body, the face was perfectly-preserved, glassy eyes open and unseeing. The lips were parted enough for spiders — hundreds of which had made a home of the person — to crawl in and out of. Little of his dark brown hair was visible, except at the hairline. The man still clutched a stick in his lap and he wore a grey-green uniform. A tiny spider skittered across one of his eyes.

Alfred shuddered, having to pry his fingers from their death-like grip on P.

"Is he dead?"

There was something wrong with the porcelain flesh, something that made it appear like stone with flesh-colored paint. The man-statue showed no signs of breathing or life, yet looked too real to be carved.

"No," Peter said, gazing at the figure impassively. "He is one of the _others_. He forgot how to be alive. The Jerk would remember his name."

Alfred felt queasy and hurried up the stairs behind P.

"How can someone forget how to be alive? You have to eat and breathe right?"

"You can't die here," P said somberly. "The magic heals all injury. But we forget."

"This Hero won't forget!" Alfred said with a determined grin, jerking a thumb against his chest.

"If you say so."

"How old are you? Do you remember that?"

"No. But I haven't aged in a long time."

"How long?"

"The Jerk once said something about decades," P said.

Alfred nearly tripped. "You can't be older than me. You look younger."

"We don't age here," P said.

"Oi! Peter!" shouted an accented voice from above, one that echoed around. Despite sounding irritated, it had the same enchanting ring Alfred could not forget, one that made his face burn — with anger he told himself. "I haven't all day! The food's gone cold! Did you get lost again?"

"Peter! That's it! That's my name!" the boy said, almost smiling.

 _Arthur?_

Running past Peter, Alfred took the steps two at a time and reached the top a little out of breath. Two massive, twin oaken doors were open and inside was a throne room whose center was dominated by a long rectangular table. A grey tablecloth covered it that collected in folds on the grounds. Silver platters filled with buttered corn, pouched gourds, yams, cobblers and food enough to feed several families covered the table from end to end. But even from here none of it smelled pleasant. Tea cups and silverware were sets before every one of the dozen chairs lining it. Candlesticks with lit candles covered the table giving the room an orange glow.

What was a banquet doing in a throne room? Alfred was taken aback by the randomness. It was almost nonsense.

Dozens could be seated here, but only one had an occupant, another of those _others_ , and he was covered in dust and cobweb as well. However, he still moved, rocking back and forth. His blonde hair, long enough to reach his jaw, swayed with his movement. He clutched a present, a box on the table with a faded bow on top.

There was a strange _click-click_ sound that drew Alfred's gaze to the back where on a high platform that seemed to be curtained on each side with webs of blackness dropping from the ceiling stood the throne. The jewels inset in the huge clawed arms and the back were glazed with dust, and on the carven back were cobwebs. A man, dwarfed by its size, lounged there, one foot kicking back and forth against the floor and the other bent on the cushioned seat.

He knitted with blue yarn, his large needles making the noise. He appeared engrossed in his task and did not look up.

Although Alfred recognized the nymph, it was weird to see him clothed and in so odd an outfit as well. He wore a long frock coat with an elaborate ruff of lace around his neck and his cuffs. His tricorn hat, crowned with a plume of ostrich feathers, was tilted lazily down. The coat had the feeling of having once lived a life privilege. Even from here Alfred could see signs of the rich decorations that had once laid on it. A pair of knee-high boots were set by the throne while the man lazed in his socks.

For a moment Alfred could not speak, spellbound by the sheer inhuman beauty of the shaggy-haired man — nymph? pirate? pirate nymph? — that lounged before.

Peter entered and the man set aside his needlework and looked over, adjusting himself. He moved graceful, almost with a feline quality, and repositioned himself so that his chin was propped on a fist that had its elbow on one of the arms. He crossed his legs and regarded Alfred, eyeing him up and down.

"'ello crumpet. Don't stand there gawking. It took you long enough to reach _my_ Kingdom."

* * *

 **Next time:**

A pirate king of a decaying and ruined kingdom sits upon a crumbling throne, every bit a prisoner as those he drags down. Punishment for a _sin_ that has not been forgiven…

TBC… in **"Arthur** "

(So much US/UK goodness next chapter)

* * *

 **Note —** I'm working on a one-shot werewolf AU. It's rough-written and just needs some fine-tuning. Here's the description for those who might be interested:

 _Alfred, a recently-turned werewolf who nearly killed his brother last full moon, has fled his old life. He finds himself drawn to Hetalia, a small town nestled deep in the Rocky Mountains, and its almost the full moon again. Soon he learns the town is a refuge for supernatural creatures. The mayor, Arthur Kirkland, is the alpha of the town's dominant werewolf pack and he has decided the "packless" Alfred is going to be their next member._

 _If you are interested please check out_ ** _"The Lycanthrope's Conquest"_** _when it's released in a few days._


	12. Arthur

**Acknowledgements** \- Wow, thank you for all your reviews, favs, and likes. A special thanks to **Youareruiningmylife, Dangara2610, The Story Siren, designcandy, NyLeveLlom,** and **Arya Scarlett14**

* * *

 **Q & A - **

**Youareruiningmylife** : I can't spoil too much. However, on the breathing underwater, the answer is no. They are in a place that is its own universe. A special world created for reasons that are explained later. Thank you for your questions

 **Dangara2610 :** I promise those questions will definitely be answered in time. :)

* * *

 **Arthur**

* * *

Alfred couldn't move, mind overwhelmed with too many things he needed to do and unsure which had priority.

Arthur coughed, shifting in the overly large seat, a growing look of frustration on his face. Finally, gesturing at the table, he said, "At least have a seat. A good cup of tea will do you good."

That single statement broke the spell and set Alfred's bare feet moving, running, toward Arthur who made no attempt to escape as Alfred ran the length of the throne room and up the steps of the dais. The steps were so thick with dust they looked like grey soil, one that hid the red-veined marble.

Whiffs of orange oil and tea wafted from Arthur, scents Alfred could smell as he grabbed the front of of Arthur's coat, now faded near colorlessness, the garment bore few embellishments other than horn buttons.

"Send me back!" Alfred yelled, shoving Arthur against the back of the arm chair. He scowled at the man who look more amused than threatened. Hairs rose across Alfred's skin; his flesh tingled all over. He felt a menace radiating from the shorter man who snickered, angering Alfred more who shoved him again. "It's not funny! Return me now or else!"

"Else what?" Arthur said, lifting one side of his bushy eyebrow. Alfred noticed to his shock Arthur's ears, visible just beneath the rim of the elaborate hat, were pointed on top. And the man wore dangling jade earrings.

"I'll beat the shit out of you!" Alfred growled, frowning when Arthur chuckled at that. "Don't you get it? My brother needs me. He could be dying up there… he could be…" He couldn't say the last part. "He needs me!"

 _Am I too late?_

"And _I_ need a good shag. But the world's an unfair place. We rarely get what we want unless you plan to oblige," Arthur said, waggling his eyebrow.

 _A shag?_

Was that like a shaggy rug or something?

Alfred thrust Arthur harder into the throne. "I'm warning you!"

The smiled disappeared from Arthur's mouth, his expression darkening, his hooded gaze continuing to study Alfred. His cool hands, hidden under gloves, reached up and wrapped around Alfred's wrists. The air and shadows thickened around them, as if solidifying.

"Love, you 'ave a lotta bottle to threaten _me_ ," Arthur said darkly. He look incensed. "You may have a cracking good face, but no one is allowed manhandle 'ole Arthur here. You have to the count of three. _One."_

"Gilbert is killing my brother! For God's sake! I have to get back!"

" _Two_."

Refusing to be intimidated, he held on, meeting Arthur's glare even as those green eyes started to blaze with inner light and the man's skin began to shine. Arthur's grip turned painfully frigid.

" _Three._ "

Invisible bands — spell craft far beyond anything Alfred could comprehend — looped around his waist, neck, and limbs. His attempt to counter spell were feeble, like an insect batting at a lion. He was seized and ripped backwards to soar through the air. Alfred landed hard on the table top, knocking off platters, cups, and dishes that crashed and shattered on the floor.

For a moment, he lay pinned there in shock, gasping for air. He couldn't get up, he felt nailed to the surface. The only part he could lift was his head and he blushed, realizing the hem of his nightgown had flown up, material pooling at his thighs. He was almost exposed to Arthur who made a show of checking him out.

"You pervert!" Alfred wheezed, struggling from where he lay spread eagle.

"Relax, git, I already saw everything when I changed you. And what a lovely sight that was!" Arthur said, giving an appreciative sigh.

"Let me up!"

"I warned you," Arthur said simply like that brooked no argument. He calmly slipped on his knee-high boots, not looking to be in the slightest hurry.

"Stay away from me!" Alfred shouted as Arthur strolled over languidly, with a wicked grin.

"Or?" Arthur reached out, tickling the bottom of Alfred's foot with his forefinger.

"Hey — _hahaha_ — stop!" Alfred yelled, his words punctuated by bursts of laughter. The force of attempting not to laugh brought tears to his eyes. "That's not fair! I can't — _hahahaha —_ breathe!"

"Ticklish," Arthur said, stopping the assault on Alfred's feet to rest his palm on Alfred's shin.

"Don't touch me!"

"Crikey, you are a strapping lad," Arthur said, his hand gliding up Alfred's leg as he walked around the table and up the side of it.

"Let me up! Or I swear I'll—."

"You'll what?" Arthur interrupted, smirking in amusement. He placed a hand on Alfred's upper thigh, fingers curled around the inside, and massaged uncomfortably close to a very intimate area on Alfred.

"I'll rip your damn head off!" Alfred said, unable to move. That invisible force held him down. "You stop that!"

"Shame you're thick in the head," Arthur sighed, squeezing Alfred's leg painfully hard before he let go. "You sir," Arthur pointed at Alfred, "have caused me loads of trouble. This whole situation has become one big cock-up. I should box those pretty ears of yours!"

"What the hell do you keep saying?" Alfred snapped. "Do you speak English or not?"

"I speak proper Queen's tongue," Arthur said, puffing out his lean chest proudly, like a peacock on display. "You're the git that blathers on in that foul way you call English. Who taught you such drek?"

"This is my mother's tongue. My _actual_ mother's tongue. It's how we were taught English."

Arthur sniffed, raising his chin.

"Can I get up now?"

"I'll consider it," Arthur said, that sly grin back. Then he placed a hand on Alfred's side and leaned over until their faces were dangerously close. "What say we have a good shag first?"

"What the hell is a shag?"

Arthur's eyes lit up and he smiled widely. That look made Alfred feel like a mouse being eyed by a cat. "It's jolly good fun is what it is. You should let me tie you up first. It helps the _experience_."

With a grimace, Alfred said, "Ugh… something perverted. No thanks. _Please_ ," it was hard to say that, "return me. I beg of you. Mattie needs me."

"Love," Arthur said, almost sympathetically, "It wouldn't do much good now even if I could. It took time for you to heal. I could fit two fists through you when I brought you here. The magic here works only so fast. You've slept for over three days."

As those words sunk in, Alfred let his head fall back and stared at the unseen ceiling. His mind had gone blank. For once, he had nothing to say. There was nothing to say. _Then Mattie is…_

He shut his eyes, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

 _I'm sorry, Mattie._

For a while they remained in silence. Arthur's hand came back, squeezing gently on Alfred's shoulder in a comforting way. When Alfred opened his eyes, he saw Arthur dusting away a few crumbs and stacking dishes to the side, clearing a spot on the table before he hopped up and sat astride to Alfred.

"Then send me back so I can avenge my family," Alfred said. "That's all I want."

The coils of magic suddenly released and Alfred could move again. He sat up, pulling his nightgown down and then leaned back on his palms, not having he energy to get up. It all seemed so pointless now.

He reached for Arthur's arm, hesitating, and touched it, hoping mercy could reach this man. Arthur sat in thought, gaze drifting to where Alfred held him.

"Git," Arthur said. "That's not how things work 'ere. I can't send you back."

"Why not?" Alfred's grip tightened. "What's your problem?"

"What's _my_ problem?" Alfred hissed, sounding offended. He shook off Alfred's hand and stood up. "Typical. You think I'm some kind of ogre, just like the others! That I can't send you back because I don't want to!"

"Well… can't you?" Alfred climbed off the table, preferring to stand and have his height difference over Arthur.

"Smarmy git!" Arthur grumbled, hands bawling into fists. "I'm stuck the same as you! We're all 'ere at Her Majesty's Pleasure!"

"Who?"

"Prisoners, you nitwit! It means prisoners!"

"Sure we are." Alfred rolled his eyes. Shaking his forefinger at Arthur, he said, "Listen, you lying jerk, I—."

"No, you listen, wanker! You ever waggle a bleeding finger in my face again and you'll lose an arm!" Arthur stepped forward, appearing to grow taller as his shadow extended, his voice deepened, and it took all Alfred's willpower not to back away. "I've had enough of your empty threats! That yapping mouth of yours! And your ingratitude for me saving your worthless bum! I said no one leaves! That means no one! Not me! Not you!"

"Well…" Alfred began, feeling confused. Arthur sounded sincere. "Why not?"

At that the intimidating aura vanished and Arthur returned to his normal appearance. Arthur scratched as his ear, looking away rather peevishly. _Is he embarrassed?_ It had to be a trick. "About that… I," Arthur coughed, "May have made a _small_ miscalculation or two. I suppose… I sorta of backstabbed my former Master, Merlin, and," Arthur gave a forced laugh, "the rotten bugger — such a sense of humor — found a way to get the last laugh. Now I can't leave. I can _only_ enter to the river to bring a dying or near-death soul down every few decades. Even now I'm not sure why. Merlin always loved irony."

"Um… can you repeat that in English?"

"Git! We're trapped! You and I! For all time."

"But…" Alfred ran through his hair, starting to pace. "That… that doesn't make sense." He stopped, pointing at Arthur. "You pulled me under me! Why can't you?"

"Are you daft? I said I can't. The Looking Glass," he gestured at a corner of the throne and Alfred glanced that way, noticing a tall, ornate mirror in the corner, one that blended with the black shadows, one he had noticed before, "is shut now. Drained from taking you here. Even I can't enter the river again for at least another two decades. It takes time to recharge its magic."

"I'm not following you. What's the mirror have to do with this?"

"It has everything to do with this!" It's the reason you're alive. It's the reason for all this. This world is created and sustained by its power," Arthur waved around at the banquet and throne room. Then he pointed at the mirror, saying, "That is the Looking Glass of the Lady Shalott! The fairies forged it and Merlin cast powerful spells upon it. It is no ordinary mirror."

"A magic mirror," Alfred said, walking over toward it. When he saw his smoky form in it, he couldn't help but admire himself. Had he always been so good-looking? Yes, yes he had.

"Yes, yes, you're your a strapping bloke," Arthur said. "How about we both pop off for a good shag? Heavens knows I could use one. It's been ages."

"You're not going to give up on that, are you?" Alfred muttered

The square mirror stood a foot taller than him in a silver frame in which winged creatures and floral designs were etched. There was a strange depth to it, as if it were not a mirror at all. Various items from a pipe to a broken harp to the leg of a chair were piled around it.

Reaching to touch it, he recoiled when a snap of static jolted his finger. Once more holding out his hand, he managed to touch it and found it ice-cold. Its surface felt strange, not like glass. It was like touching a solid liquid, one that did not ripple.

"If it keeps us here, can we break it and go free?"

Arthur burst out laughing behind him and Alfred threw him a frown. "What's so funny?"

"Blow me, love, if you aren't hysterical."

"Blow you? Would you stop with the sex stuff!"

"The what? Who said anything about shagging? However, if that's on your mind," he winked. "You cheeky fellow."

"So I guess it's hard to break?" Alfred said, changing the subject.

"Impossible, more like it. What do you think all those things around it were for?" Arthur said, leaning onto the top of a chair. "The Others brought them, oh they tried so hard to shatter it. No one has ever succeeded in even scratching it."

"There must be a way. I don't believe in the impossible," Alfred said, turning back to study the mirror, feeling along the frame.

"Hmm… there might be if you can solve Merlin's little clue. That old bastard loved his mind games," Arthur said with exasperation. "The prat."

"What was his clue?"

"It goes like this:

 _Crack, shatter, and break,_

 _Not one scratch shall it take,_

 _Until thine rotten heart speaks truth,_

 _Then shall the water rise,_

 _And the walls fall,_

 _And the Kingdom end,_

 _And true heartache begin,_

 _As all return from whence they came._

"What does that mean?"

"I've no clue," Arthur said. "I thought I did. I thought it meant honesty. You know 'until thine heart speaks truth' and thats what the Others thought. Yet no matter how many times I've said the truth nothing happens. I swear I've had so many heart to hearts with the bleeding thing. That bastard Merlin was probably lying. His last revenge."

"But if honesty isn't the answer, what is?" Alfred wondered.

 _Until thine rotten heart speaks truth._

"Who knows, git," Arthur said, sighing heavily. "All I know is there is no escape for any of us. This is our cage."

* * *

 **Historical Note —**

The Mirror Of Lady Shallot comes from a famous Victorian poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson that tells focuses on the tragic fate of Lady Shalott. It is based on the Arthurian legend of Elaine of Astolat who loved Sir Lancelot.

Lady Shalott would come under a terrible curse if she ever looked upon the real world with her own eyes. She could only view the world through her mirror. The moment she gazed with her own eyes doom befell her.

Here is an excerpt from from the poem:

 _She left the web, she left the loom_

 _She made three paces thro' the room_

 _She saw the water-flower bloom,_

 _She saw the helmet and the plume,_

 _She look'd down to Camelot._

 _Out flew the web and floated wide;_

 _The mirror crack'd from side to side;_

 _'The curse is come upon me,' cried_

 _The Lady of Shalott._

* * *

TBC… "The Looking Glass of Shalott"


	13. The Looking Glass of Shallot

**Note -** I said 15-20 chapters for this. I might have underestimated things.

* * *

 **The Looking Glass of Shalott**

* * *

 _This is our cage_.

Alfred sat down heavily on a cushioned seat and put his faces in his palms.

"Git," Arthur said, sounding annoyed. "That's the throne."

"Why me?" Alfred asked, fighting back tears. He chest felt tight like a vice squeezed it; he almost couldn't breathe. "There were others."

 _There was Matthew._

When Arthur didn't answer, Alfred lifted his face and was taken aback to see the man in front of him. He had not heard him climb the steps of the dais.

"Do you believe their lives more precious than your own?" Arthur asked, voice cold and thoughtful.

"W-well… yes," Alfre said. "I mean, of course!"

"Why?" Arthur asked, studying him intently with those brilliant green eyes.

"B-because… because that's what a hero does. He sacrifices his life for others," Alfred stammered, taken aback by the question. Arthur seemed disappointed by the answer like he had been hoping for another.

"No, that's what a fool does," Arthur said, voice bitter, face unreadable.

"You're wrong!" Alfred said, unable to make a better case.

"I disagree," Arthur said, walking back down the steps to the table. He tossed his hat on another chair, revealing the top of his mop of sandy-colored hair. "If you must hate someone, then hate me. Most usually do."

"They didn't deserve to die!" Alfred said, words sounding hollow.

"No one said they did." Arthur picked up two porcelain plates and sets of silverware, transferring them to the table corner nearest Alfred, along with two teacups.

As Arthur continued to move things onto the part of that table where Alfred had landed earlier, Alfred studied the man. His eyes searched over the finely-tailored coat he'd only glimpsed before, the folds of the cravat knotted at the throat, and the pale skin. That silky hair looked poorly cut, a sign Arthur trimmed it himself. The man had a long, slender neck. His pointed ears left no doubt he wasn't human.

Alfred felt his insides knotting with an odd mixture of guilt and anger. He wanted to argue and prove Arthur wrong, yet he could not figure out what to say. No one had ever challenged Alfred's morality before.

"Why aren't you wearing the slippers I left for you?" Arthur asked, snapping Alfred from his stupor.

"What slippers?" Alfred asked, grateful for the change of subject. Arthur sighed, continuing to fill each plate with food. "Where are my clothes and shoes? I'm rather chilly in this dress."

"Nightgown, git," Arthur said, pouring tea into each cup. To Alfred's surprise, he saw steam curling off the brown liquid — had Arthur warmed it somehow? "They had to be cleaned and dried. Not to mention the bleeding hole in your clothes. As soon as I've patched that up, I'll return them. In the meantime, I've some replacements."

"Nothing kinky, I hope," Alfred joked half-heartedly, giving a forced smile.

"That's for later, love," Arthur said slyly, throwing Alfred a wink. For some reason — maybe the husky tone — Alfred to his surprise found himself feeling light-headed at that comment and a little warm.

Shaking his head, as if to clear it, he quickly asked, "Was there a pocket watch? A round, silver one with an engraving on the inside of the lid?"

Arthur looked over, eyeing him in a very subdued way. "There was. However, I'm afraid it's stopped."

"That doesn't matter," Alfred said, relieved it hadn't sunk to the bottom of the river. "Can I get it back? It's very precious to me."

As Arthur pulled out a chair and sat down, then asked, "Is it a gift from a lover?"

If Alfred's face had felt heated before, it now went crimson. He had no idea why Arthur's suggestion of a 'lover' caused him to blush. "N-no," he said, shaking both his head and a hand. Although he rarely noticed, many had told him on more than one occasion that he gestured very animately when he spoke. "It was from a man who was like a father to me."

 _More than my actual father._

"I see," Arthur said, using a knife and fork to cut his slice of rather-overcooked-looking roast into bite-sized pieces. The metal scraped against the plate, grating on Alfred's nerves. "I'll return it after dinner. The spare clothes are in the same area. Why don't you sit down and eat? While starving won't kill you, it will weaken you and we get dreadful hunger pangs."

Alfred's stomach growled in agreement.

Standing up, Alfred paused to glance one more time at his reflection. There was something odd about the mirror; something very _off_ about it that his mind couldn't quite figure out.

"Love, it won't crack no matter how long you glare it. Trust me." Arthur said as he chewed.

"I got it!" Alfred said suddenly. "I know what's been bothering me!"

"Besides stupidity?"

"Bite me, Art," Alfred said, without breaking his gaze from the mirror. "It has no stand!"

It stood perfectly upright, a foot from the wall, with no base. The weight of such a heavy frame should have toppled it, yet it stood, unfazed by gravity and would not budge.

"How does it do that?" Alfred wondered aloud.

"It's _like_ magic," Arthur said, voice tinged with sarcasm. When Alfred shot him a frown, a happily-smiling Arthur waved a hand at a tarnished silver platter filled with what appeared to be charred rolls. "Scones, love? They're delicious."

Nothing about them looked delicious.

"Are you _sure_ nothing here can kill me?" Alfred asked, eyeing them warily.

Scowling, Arthur said tersely, "What are you implying?"

"N-nothing." Alfred came over, drawn by hunger, and took a seat opposite of Arthur. To his surprise, when he reached for a fork, Arthur's cool hand shot out and latched onto the top of his.

"It won't be so bad, love," Arthur said, giving a squeeze, then he withdrew his hand. The top of Alfred's tingled from the touch. "I promise."

 _You mean living here, right?_ Alfred almost said, but decided against that.

He picked up a scone and was surprised much effort it took to break in two. Were they supposed to be this hard? "Where does all this food come from?" He asked as he stuck the piece of scone in his mouth. It cut his gum, but other than that it wasn't so bad. He swallowed hard. "A garden? A…what is it?"

"You… you… swallowed," Arthur said. A sniffled escaped and he dabbed with the table cloth at his misting eyes. "How does it taste?"

"Um… how should it taste?" Alfred slowly set the rest of the scone down, very concerned.

"Bloody wonderful."

"It tasted… um…" _like sand_ , "fine." Alfred grinned and gave a thumbs up.

"I knew it!" Arthur said, staring off to the side darkly. "The others had exaggerated! Vomiting blood just to spite me!" Alfred's eyes bulged at that statement. "And the frog!" Alfred held up his hands as if wringing an invisible neck. "Always turning up his nose! See I was a decent cook!"

Arthur turned in his seat to glare at the man three chairs down from Alfred, the one Alfred had noticed when he first entered, the one who kept rocking back and forth while hold what looked like a present.

"He's the frog?" Alfred said, jerking a thumb at him. "Strange name."

Arthur's gaze snapped back to him. "His name isn't the frog. It's Francis."

"Francis? I liked the frog better," Alfred said and Arthur chuckled. "So he's like the others."

"Not yet, _unfortunately._ " He spoke in a darker tone. "The wanker is still moving. I swear he exists to piss me off. And it figures the bleeding frog would pick a chair in 'ere _._ Bothersome prat had to ruin the decorum!"

Upon a closer look, Alfred noticed the coat of dust on the shoulders of the man's faded dark blue coat, a gaudy garment with elaborate gold buttons. His long, blond hair was matted with cobwebs, as was he, and, to Alfred's discomfort, a couple tiny spiders crawled in and out of his hair, clearly at home. The man clutched a box that was covered in the worst of the dust and cobwebs.

"What's in the present?" Alfred asked, studying the delicate silvery paper wrapped around it, all tied up by a pale blue bow.

"Something for his daughter who lives in Seychelles, so he told me. Wouldn't say what it was, but it got dragged down here with him. He fretted over it, insisted he'd break the curse and give it to her one day. He whined about needing to keep a promise. Who'd 'ave guessed the bleeding frog had a bleeding heart." Arthur chuckled at his own joke seemed put-out when Alfred didn't join in his humor.

"Will Peter become like that eventually?" Alfred asked nervously, glancing around for the boy.

"Curses!" Arthur said, standing up. "Peter!" His voice echoed around the cavernous room. "Drat! He wandered off again. Well, he'll find us later. He doesn't like being alone for long."

"Why not?"

"Because he forgets we exist. He has to stay moving or he'll forget how."

"How does that happen?" Alfred asked. "And why are you spared?"

"Spared is hardly the word, git. I'm rather forgetful myself actually. Then again, I always was." He paused, biting his lower lip in thought. With a shake of his head, he continued, "Sometimes, I wish I was the one going barmey. No worries or cares. No fretting whether I'll ever be free of 'ere. I have lots I'd rather forget."

The last part was said with such regret that Alfred looked up from the flavorless roast he was chewing on. Locking eyes with Arthur, he said,"I won't forget."

"You will," Arthur said. "They all do. At first it's little things, then the bigger. Finally, they stop sleeping, eating, and then they don't breath anymore. They become those statues. On the bright side, it takes decades. You won't age and you can't die. Not even if your head is cut off."

He gestured by moving his forefinger across his throat.

"Did someone…" Alfred's mouth felt dry and he gulped the meat down. "Did someone try that?"

"It was an accident," Arthur said. "I told him not to play with my cutlass."

Alfred repressed a shudder, disturbed at the glee Arthur spoke with on that. "Is there anything to do in this place?"

"Indeed there is. Hours upon hours of shagging. Makes the time fly by," Arthur said with a wink.

"Stuff that's not perverted? If I'm stuck you for a while, I'd like something to do."

"Shagging is something to do."

Alfred groaned, continuing to munch on the tasteless food. It was all cold. He'd have to find this _kitchen_ Arthur had mentioned. "So how does it work with the mirror. Do you say 'mirror, mirror on the wall' and see stuff?"

Arthur set down his fork and gave Alfred a hard look, lifting one side of his eyebrow. "Mirror, mirror on the wall? Git, this is not a fairy tale."

"It could be. You could be the princess trapped in the castle by a curse and I'm your hero," Alfred said, grinning. "Princess Art has a nice ring don't you think?"

"My name is _Arthur,_ " he said in an acidic tone. "Is that too many letters for you to handle, Mr. Hero?"

"Princess _Artie?_ " The man gave Alfred a withering scowl that could have curdled milk.

For a while they sat in silence until Alfred couldn't bear the quiet anymore and asked, "How come you take people down if they'll only be trapped here?"

"Says the guy who just complained because I _didn't_ take his brother." Arthur picked up his tea cup and saucer, holding his pinky out as he lifted the cup. "I suspect the reason I can has something to do with breaking the curse. Another of Merlin's attempted to force me to be decent. Rotten prat," Arthur muttered, taking a sip. He added in voice so low it was almost a whisper, "And I get lonely."

"No one has ever broken the mirror?"

"Not even a scratch," Arthur said. "All those things were brought by the others. Anything they could go throw at it. And that beastly frog," Arthur snickered, as if remembering something, "he tried to make out with the bloody thing! Funniest thing I ever saw. He insisted _amour_ was the solution."

"Well, I'm not like them. I'm the hero of this story," Alfred declared, jerking his thumb against his chest. Arthur stared at him skeptically.

"I wish you had the hump like the frog always did. Although he was too much. I couldn't keep him off. Had to lock my bed chambers just so I could sleep."

"What happens if the curse is broken?" Alfred asked, leaning forward. He wasn't even going to ask what 'hump' meant to Arthur. "Do I go back where I left?"

"Not just where, but when," Arthur said. Alfred felt his mouth fall open and his eyes go so wide he was sure they'd fall out. "Why do you look surprised? It says in that clue, ' _all return from whence they came'_ and my own research with the mirror suggests the same. We're not fixed in time here."

Alfred was on his feet and around the table before Arthur had time to register it. With tears in his eyes, he grabbed Arthur's shoulders and, in a voice choked with emotion, said, "You mean I'd go back to when I left?"

"That's what I just said!" Arthur said, frowning.

"So… I could save Mattie!" He grinned from ear to ear and, when his attempt to pull the protesting Arthur from the chair failed, he simply hugged both the man and chair together as hard as he could. "Thank you! Thank you!"

"Get off me git!" Arthur yelled, squirming in his grip.

As Alfred continued the embrace, rubbing the side of his face to Arthur's chest, he went crimson and sprang away backwards with a yelp when slender fingers firmly cupped his ass cheeks. Face burning, he pointed at Arthur and, in a fuming voice, said, "No fair! What was that for!"

"You know bloody well what is was for," Arthur said, straightening his crumpled clothing. His smile said 'I regret nothing'. "That's what you get for not listening."

"I was showing gratitude."

"Show that with a good shag, snog, or other naughty activities. Not by crushing the life from me," Arthur said simply.

"Wait," Arthur said in a alarm, back on his feet. "Will I forget all this?"

"Everyone forgets 'er—."

"No!" Alfred interrupted. "I mean _when_ I break the curse. Do I forget this place? Does my… injury return?"

"You're rather cocky. But I'll humor you. I've obviously never tested the mirror, but I have does a lot of research on magic mirrors — not those stupid fairy tale ones — but _real_ magic mirrors. They are useful for creating worlds within worlds. What happens on one side of the mirror should remain true on the other. So I believe you very likely should remain healed and with all your memories of 'ere."

"So that's a yes," Alfred said in relief.

"It's _maybe_. That I'm pretty certain is true."

"Which is a yes," Alfred said, ignoring Arthur's exasperated sigh. "That means I can fight Gil again. I wasn't exactly effective against him…"

"He stomped all over you, love," Arthur said, with another sip.

"Details." Alfred waved a dismissive hand. "Could I bring stuff from the mirror like a really powerful sword? Do you by chance have a godcraft laying around here?"

Arthur stared at Alfred, as if he were the epitome of lunacy. "Do… I have a godcraft? You mean like Excalibur?"

"Yes! That would be perfect? Is it hidden here?" Alfred said in a hopeful voice.

Arthur blinked at him and then exploded. "You think I have one of the most _legendary_ swords in existence lying around here?! Oh, sure git, _it's up in the attic!_ I'll go fetch it!"

"Really? What a lucky break!"

Arthur set down his teacup, stood up, pushing his chair out, and then stamped a foot, shouting at Alfred, "You idiot! How stupid are you? No! I don't have Excalibur! Is there no filter in your mouth for words! It was taken, as were most of the godcraft, when the elves left the human realm! It doesn't exist in the human realm or this one!"

"Dang," Alfred said in disappointment. "Is there a way to get another?"

Arthur massaged the bridge of his nose. "You… give it up, git." Lifting his head again, he said, "You can't defeat the Gram. Your best option _if_ , and that's a big _if_ , is to run if you manage to return."

"And leave my brother to die?" Alfred flushed with anger at the thought. "That's what a coward would do! I won't leave him."

"That _Gil_ you speak of is beyond you. You can't cast worth shit. You're useless with a sword." Alfred frowned, wanting to protest, but Arthur continued. "You'd be back in the river within minutes with a new hole in your stomach and _no_ Kingdom to save you. Second chances are rare. Don't waste yours. Swim to the other side and flee."

"Hell no! I won't abandon my own brother."

"Then you'll die with him. Is that what _he_ would want?"

"Don't you dare bring Mattie into this!"

"You're right I should've brought the other if I could've. He might have seen reason," Arthur said.

"I'll practice. I'll use my time here to train," Alfred said. "Are there any books on spell craft?"

"Many," Arthur said. "But they won't do you any good. And they won't change the outcome."

Alfred's hands bawled into fists. "I'm not running away."

"Well, this is a silly argument since none of us are leaving here," Arthur said. "It's your funeral."

"Is running away what you do?" Alfred asked pointedly and Arthur glared at him sharply.

He smiled, yet it never touched his eyes. "I survive. I don't throw my life away on useless causes if that's you mean."

"No, you just live. And it's gotten you so far," Alfred said, waving a hand at the Kingdom. "Nice work."

"What would you know, git?" Arthur seethed. "Besides, your brother wasn't about to die. His aura was grey. He had at least another month of life."

That information hung in the air between them as Alfred let it sink in.

"You know when people are about to die?"

"The mirror shows their aura. I can only take those about to die. Although I would have taken you anyway," Arthur said. "Yours was black as night."

"I don't understand. Gil wouldn't spare Mattie unless…" he looked up at Arthur who suddenly had a look of regret. "No."

"Damn," Arthur said. "I said too much."

 _Torture?_

Did it mean Matthew only escaped for a while or that Gilbert captured him and kept him alive to torture him? In Alfred's heart he knew the more likely answer.

Feeling rage surge into him, and having no outlet, he ran to the mirror, scooping up the first thing he found — a brick — and hurled it, yelling, "Son of a bitch!"

It bounced off, the reflective surface and landed nearby by. Next, Alfred grabbed a bat and smashed it repeatedly against the glass. "Why? Why? Mattie never did anything to you! It was my fault! Mine!"

Hot tears coursed down his face and his throat tightened. In his head it was Gilbert's face he beat, not his own reflection. The bat snapped in two and he threw it aside. Not assuaged, he punched the mirror, again and again, hearing a crack, but not from the mirror.

His fist left bloody imprints, his knuckled roared with pain. Salty tears flowed into his mouth and he slid to his knees, forehead resting against the cool glass and sobbed.

"I'm sorry Mattie," he blubbered.

"You idiot!" he distantly heard Arthur cry as the man came beside him. He turned away until Arthur forcefully took his hand. He hissed, sucking in air through his teeth as Arthur examined his ruined hand. "What have you done, git!"

"It doesn't," Alfred said. "None of it matters."

He blinked when the side of his face was smacked and, after the stars cleared from his eyes, he saw a furious Arthur had backhanded him.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself!" Arthur snapped. "It makes sick! You whine like a hypocrite. You boast of saving others, then moan when you can't. Belt up, you stupid git!"

"Did you just hit me?" Alfred said, his cheek still stinging.

"No, git! I reasoned with you! Look what you did to your hand!" Arthur said, the slight movement made Alfred gasp and sent rippled through his body.

"I'd rather not," he said, knowing it had to be pretty mangled.

"Do you feel better?" Arthur asked darkly, he patted at Alfred's knuckles with a table cloth he'd brought over.

"Won't it heal?" Alfred asked, breathing heavily, feeling exhausted.

"Not until midnight" Arthur said, as he dabbed gently at the wound. "That's when everything here reverts to what it's meant to be. No, don't ask me why. I don't make the rules. For the next several hours this'll hurt like a bastard. Good job, idiot."

While Alfred wanted to respond, he was rather taken with how Arthur fussed over his injury. It made him feel warm inside, reminding him of how Tino and Matthew worried over him.

Seeing England, brow crinkled, muttering to himself of what to do, caused a strange thought to enter Alfred's head: _he's kinda cute_.

Shocked, Alfred tried to shake his head, but that caused more agony.

"Don't move, git," Arthur said, "You'll have to stand. We need to get you to my Study. I've potions there to help this. At least the pain. And don't you dare laugh at my knitting or I won't help your hurting. Here drape your arm over me."

"I can walk by m—." He cried out when Arthur bent his fingers slightly causing a howl of agony to escape him. The color drained from his face. "Hey!"

Suddenly, Arthur had hooked his arm behind his neck and was helping him walk. Alfred felt woozy and a little shaky. At least two of his fingers were broken. A soothing warmth passed into his hands from Arthur's now warm ones as the man channeled.

It numbed the pain.

Alfred found himself unable to move or pull away, not because Arthur held him, but because he didn't want to. As they walked, he watched Arthur continue to focus on Alfred's battered and bloodied hand, one finger hanging limply at a wrong angle.

Arthur's touch felt light. Any attempt to separate from Arthur made that soft grasp turn into steel. He wouldn't let loose of Alfred. Once he surrendered to Arthur's ministrations, Arthur continued to trail his fingers over the fingers, feeling for breaks, channeling a tiny, yet continuous stream of magic that kept the pain at bay.

Alfred felt a nervous knot in his stomach. Why did he feel so funny?

In an attempt to lighten the mood, he grinned and joked, "Remind me not to punch an unbreakable mirror again."

"If you're thick enough to need reminder, you're beyond hope," Arthur responded as they left the throne room, pausing only to pick up one of the candles which he handed to Alfred to hold in his good hand. "Be careful. Now watch your step." Arthur guided his steps.

Alfred was grateful to the dim light, grateful for his growing blush to be hidden. For some reason he felt warm inside as Arthur worried over his injury. The cold, waspish creature had a soft spot it seemed. It was a contrast to the world Alfred grew up in. Where injuries that weren't about to kill you were nothing to be concerned over.

Even when Alfred almost died from a fever, his father had not worried once nor even visited him on what might have been his death bed. The servants had been nice, but it was their job to care for Alfred. Everyone always had an agenda, something to get from _appearing_ worried.

And he wanted to believe that Arthur was, at least for now, being sincere and not just hoping for a shag. The thought of sincere concern sent Alfred's heart beating.

And he let Arthur lead him, studying the man out of the corners of his eyes, his smile growing wider and wider.

Maybe eternity wouldn't be so bad.

 _I wish he was like this more_.

However, Alfred had no intention of breaking his fist again.

* * *

 **Note —**

So… it shouldn't be a problem if they return to their own times. They are separated by over a thousand years and neither are immortal. It's not like they'll get attached. Otherwise, things would get heartbreaking…

*writer laughs evilly*


	14. Tell Me A Ghost Story

**_Acknowledgements —_** _A special thanks to…_ **Youareruiningmylife, AryaScarlett 14, SheWhoLeavesCrappyReviews** (you do not :), **TheStorySiren,** and **BlackFox 0100**

And as always thanks everyone for the favs, likes, and views.

* * *

 **Note** —

I am thinking of changing the title to " _Tell Me A Fairy Tale",_ as that better suited the theme and I changed the blurb of the story. What do you think?

* * *

 **Note #2 —**

This chapter contains a reference to a deep trauma from Alfred's childhood. I'm not afraid of no ghost :P

* * *

 **Tell Me A Ghost Story**

* * *

When Alfred was seven, he was sure of three, no wait, _four_ things: his father was a perfect hero, his mother never lied, Mattie would always back him up, and _there were no such things as ghosts_.

After declaring that last part to the Ax, his cousin laughed and ruffled Alfred's hair with his large hand. Struggling against the assault, Alfred protested, "Stop it! I'm not a kid anymore!"

That only made the Ax laugh harder.

His cousin had no right to treat his own prince like this! Sure, he could lift a battle ax, but Alfred was getting pretty strong himself. Why, he had lifted a broad sword an inch off the ground for over a second yesterday. A personal record, thank you very much.

This was also why, when Alfred saw the empty chair between Elizaveta and the Ax, he sat between them. He felt old enough to sit with the adults at dinner and he resented how they wouldn't take him serious. He tried to order a pint of ale and what did they do? They chuckled, as if it was amusing and gave him a cup of warm milk!

Well, he drank that just to spite them, not because it was tasty. Not at all.

Alfred was halfway to eight! He was ready to be treated like them.

Instead, he had the Ax teasing, "Aw, widdle Alfie, don't frown like that. How about you run back to mommy and leave the big boys to talk."

"Big boys?" Elizabeta said from the other side of Alfred. Her tone had a dangerous quality.

"Sorry, boys and _tomboys_ ," the Ax teased, letting go of Alfred who continued to glare at his dark blue eyes.

"You can't treat me that way! I'm your prince!" Alfred said.

"They're so cute when they're young," the Ax joked to Elizaveta, completely ignoring Alfred's stern scowl.

"I'm not cute! I'm scary like my father!" He grunted — just like his father —when Elizaveta pinched his cheek. "Hey! Don't do that!" He rubbed his sore cheek. "I'm not cute!"

Alfred scowled harder, frustrated. He had spent month's imitating his dad's stern look so why didn't it scare people the same way? Why, when he scowled, did the maids only coo and "aw" over him. It wasn't adorable! He was scary! He was raging bawl of almost-eight intimidation. They should piss their pants in fear!

So what if his feet couldn't quite touch the ground when he sat in an adult chair? He was still very tall for his age — ask Mattie! He should be respected!

"I can't believe you think ghosts are real!" Alfred said, sticking out his tongue at the Ax. "You're a big scaredy cat!"

"I'm not the one sleeping with my mom at night," the Ax said.

"Yeah right! I bet you sleep with your mommy every night!" Alfred responded and for some reason that made Elizabeta spit up her drink and pound a fist on the table as she laughed hysterically.

Alfred glanced between them. Did he say something funny?

The Ax looked less than amused when, after wiping tears out of her eyes, Elizabeta said, "He knows you so well!"

"Shut up, Liz," the Ax said sourly and then grinned. He leaned so close to Alfred their cheeks almost touched and Alfred could smell his alcohol-stinking breath. "You know the part of the castle where you sleep is haunted."

Alfred's eyes went wide. "No, it isn't!" He glanced nervously up at Elizaveta with a look of 'is it?'

"No, it isn't," she said, dabbing at her chin and the somewhat soaked front of her tunic. "Don't believe a word he says."

"Ghosts are real. I saw her," he said, warm breath against Alfred's ear. "She haunts the Keep. A woman in white who floats with golden hair streaming behind her. Pray she never sees you. If you look at her face, you'll see black eyes and a mouth full of yellow, pointed teeth. And she'll gobble up your soul." He made crude slurping sounds.

Alfred drew in a gasping breath as he realized he had been holding it.

"God, you're twisted," Elizabeta said. "Telling a kid that. Alfie, run along before he scares you further."

"I-I'm not sc-scared," Alfred stammered, but he hopped out of his chair.

"Don't run into the White Woman. I'd hate to lose my favorite cousin," the Ax teased.

Fists bawled, Alfred shouted, "There are no ghosts!" Then he blew a raspberry at his cousin and bolted.

It wasn't until the morning he _saw_ the White Woman, a sight burned into his mind, that he realized ghosts were real. And, when they float, they make an odd sound like a creaking rope…

* * *

The choking sound of Arthur and the feel of Arthur beating at his arm alerted Alfred to loosen his chokehold — death grip — around Arthur's throat. Still, he remained pressed so tightly to Arthur's back he might as well be grafted to it.

"S-sorry," he stammered, gaze flicking across the unyielding darkness of this cavern-like library. The only refuge was within the circle light from Arthur's glass lantern. It was dank down here; humid enough to see one's own breath and taste the sour air.

"Git," Arthur grated out, grabbing Alfred's arms and sinking his nails painfully into Alfred's arm. "Let go of me."

"D-Don't be like that, Artie," Alfred said, hissing at the pain, but he held on. Arthur was warm like a teddy bear. The perfect comfort blanket for a hero. "I-I need to protect you."

"By strangling me?" Arthur said, looking over his shoulder at Alfred. "I knew I shouldn't have completely numbed the pain in your hand."

Even if Arthur hadn't, Alfred was too wired with heroic fear to have felt much. "I swear. I'll be good."

"Fine," Arthur sighed, letting Alfred once more loop his arm over Arthur's shoulders and rest his other on Arthur's arm.

As they walked, footsteps echoing on the grimy flagstones, Alfred kept glancing around. His stomach clenched, breathing became erratic, and his heart raced. This was surely a library designed by Hell. Every stone corridor was lined with shelves carved unevenly into the grey-brown stone and, upon each, were crammed books over every shape and size.

"A grown man afraid of —."

Arthur never got to finish the statement because a sound of something falling far away sent a wide-eyed Alfred leaping onto him, causing both to crash into a shelf. They landed with Alfred on top of Arthur, an open book flopping onto the back of Alfred's head like a hat. It slid off when he curled around Arthur, burying his face in the crook of Arthur's neck and shoulder, screaming repeatedly, "I heard it!"

"Get off!" Arthur yelled, attempting to pry Alfred off with physical strength. That only made Alfred cling tighter. "I'm warning you!"

Lost in panic, Alfred held onto Arthur in the way a drowning person hangs onto an attempted rescuer. Suddenly, Arthur's eyes blazed with green light and he punched Alfred's stomach.

A wheezing Alfred let go and sat back right before coils of magic — the same as earlier — seized him and threw him backwards across the hall and into an opposing shelf. He hit hard enough to knock free a couple of books that landed around him on the grimy flagstone.

He hardly noticed one of his slippers — items he wore now thanks to Arthur fetching him a pair — had landed in the middle of the hall during his flight. He was too busy trying to curl into a ball. "Let me go!" he wailed, struggling as he was held with his back to the shelf.

Images flashed through his head of the White Woman, floating in front of the windows, as she did that grey dawn all those years again. He felt like a child again. Color drained from his face, his heart raced, and he felt that he couldn't breath. Hot tears coursed down his face.

 _No! No! No!_

A sharp slap to the face brought him out of it. Stars danced briefly in his vision before he blinked and realized Arthur was sitting on him — in his lap to be exact — legs straddling Alfred's sides.

"Ar…tie?" he said in a daze.

"Git?" Arthur's warm hands cupped both his cheeks, thumbs wiping away the fresh tears. In a voice that sounded concerned, he asked, "What happened?"

Alfred saw over Arthur's shoulder than the glass lantern had been set in the middle of the corridor. Little by little Alfred calmed down and slowly, as he grew aware of their positions, found a blush creeping into his cheeks. "Can you let me up?"

"No," Arthur said simply, shaking his head.

"S-so I overreacted a bit."

"An understatement," Arthur said wryly. He looked very comfortable seated where he was. Alfred was the one uncomfortable with this. "What happened?"

"I get a little nervous in… in…," he swallowed hard, "in places like this."

"A little nervous?" Arthur arched one side of his eyebrow. "Just as a raging flood might be considered 'a little wet'? Why are you so afraid of spirits?"

"I'm not afraid," Alfred said, forcing a laugh. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm just… um… a little cautious. Could you let me up?"

Arthur sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. He adjusted himself which made Alfred more aware of what Arthur was sitting on. Alfred's face was now burning red. "I assure there is nothing 'ere than can harm you. That sound you heard was likely ole' Peter bumping into something. He wanders off and then tries to find us again. It's what happens to most in his stage of the Forgetting."

"It's Peter?" Alfred said, relaxing. "Oh, I mean, I knew that. I wasn't scared." When Arthur gave him a skeptical look, Alfred repeated, "I wasn't."

"Oh git, if there were ghosts down 'ere I would know about them," Arthur said. "I rather find the idea of spirits fascinating. Investigating haunted places was once a hobby of mine."

"It… was?" Alfred was aghast and very curious.

Arthur nodded. With a sigh, he reached over and took Alfred's injured hand — started to ache badly now — and shook his head, examining it. "Look what you did. It's bleeding again."

Alfred's eyes bulged when Arthur kissed his ruined knuckles and soothing magic flowed from his lips. Although it felt good, it sent sensations to other places.

"This mouth could be put to other uses," Arthur offered, wiping a spot of blood off his lower lip with the back of his hand.

Knowing his plea for Arthur to move would fall on deaf ears, Alfred shifted topics, speaking far more high-pitched than he meant it to, he said, "What kind of library is this? One designed by Hell?"

They had been walking for what felt like an hour in this labyrinth that felt more like a tomb for books. Sometimes there were dripping sounds and creaking noises. Sometimes the low ceiling drooped in places just as the floor dipped and rose in others. Earthy and mildew scents pervaded the air. Mushrooms and roots grew in a few of the gaps between the flagstones, even bubbling it up in places.

The temperature was inconsistent, alternating between frigid and sticky. A few intersections had strong drafts and in others the air was stale and thick like jelly. This was worse the catacombs under Grisholm Castle, a place he used to adventure with Matthew until the White Woman.

After a moment of consideration, Arthur answered, "Actually, it's like a much larger version of Merlin's library. A less cheery and eerier version, that is."

Not sounding interested in that topic, Arthur leaned close, bringing their faces within kissing distance, and placed his hands on either side of Alfred's head. Alfred was grateful the dim light hid his red face. "You have a nice body. What say we shag 'ere? As I said, I have a thing for eerie places."

"You would," Alfred said, turning his face to the side, away from the smirking Arthur. His mind scrambled for any spell that would break the bindings, but their levels were so different it was like an ant trying to throw off a lion. And Arthur was certainly a predator of some kind. "Ugh… your breath smells like tea."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Arthur chuckled, breathing softly against Alfred's ear. Alfred squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of the awful taste of tea to keep from getting aroused. He would not let Arthur affect him that way. "C'mon love, I'll be gentle."

"Do you always try to badger people into sex?"

Arthur chuckled, nuzzling the side of Alfred's neck. "Usually they badger me for it. But alas, you've uncovered my devilish scheme! You might as well give in. Time is on my side and you can only refuse so long."

Alfred's breath hitched when palms went to his shoulders and then down to roam his chest. They slid under the opening of brown robe — another thing Arthur had given to him — that had a unicorn sewn on the back. Alfred suspected Arthur had embroidered that on.

"I don't know. I'm real stubborn," Alfred said, studying Arthur out of the corner of his eyes. All he could see was that top of that tousled dark blond hair.

"I don't doubt it," Arthur said, teasing Alfred's nipples.

"Hey!" Alfred said. "Stop that! Don't you care that it would be just meaningless sex?"

"Not a tick," Arthur said, hands going over Alfred's abs. His jaw set and his muscles clenched at the caressing. "Most things we do are meaningless. Repeated routines." His lips grazed over Alfred's collarbones. "Trivial nonsense." He kissed Alfred's adam's apple. "But I'm flexible — ask the frog — if it must mean something to you, I can pretend to love you. I can cry, sniffle, and pine. I can worship you. Make you feel like a king." He bit Alfred's ear softly. "Anything you like, love."

"I don't want your pretend love," Alfred said in disgust, heart speeding up. "Even if you were the last person on Earth, I wouldn't shag you!" His voice echoed down the halls with that. The irony of that statement not lost on him.

Arthur sat back, removing his hands. He wasn't smiling anymore, he looked… curious almost. "Why not? Because I'm a man?"

"B-Because I want to shag someone I love. And I'll never love you!" For some reason he regretted his words as soon as he blurted them out.

While Arthur showed no expression, he did stand up and fetched the lantern. Suddenly, released, Alfred climbed to his feet, almost reaching out a hand. He had no idea why he wanted to apologize to Arthur of all people. It was not as if he said anything wrong.

"I suppose your right. Who would?" Arthur said, face half hidden in shadow. From what little Alfred could see, he was smiling, yet something was off about it. It looked more sad than happy. Arthur's voice had a bitter tinge as he said, "Love is a stupid notion. Something invented for fairy tales."

"But…" Alfred looked around for a moment. "But we're trapped in a castle under a curse from a magic mirror. Are you _sure_ this isn't a fairy tale?"

Arthur opened his mouth, then shut it, as if he had no response to that. Finally, he said, "No, I'm sure. If it was, then true love's shag would've broken the curse by now."

"Isn't it true love's kiss?"

"There's no such thing," Arthur said coldly, turning on his heel. He walked at a brisk pace, snapping in a waspish tone, "Keep up, git!"

"Shouldn't we put up the books?" Seeing the circle of light leaving him, Alfred ran and followed closely behind Arthur, clutching his hurt hand to his stomach.

* * *

"We're lost," Alfred sighed, running a thumb down the spine of a worn-leather book, feeling the bumps of the raised gold lettering, faint as mist. A moist place like this was a terrible area to store books in. "My hand will heal before we find it."

"We're not lost!" Arthur griped, looking like he was driving the chalk into the center of the four-way intersection's stone floor as he draw a small spell circle. Alfred didn't recognize the angular script Arthur was using at all. "All need is to straighten my bearings."

"Uh-huh. Now who's in denial?" Alfred asked, ignoring the Arthur's eyes boring into the side of his face as he studied the books on a shelf, just as the edge of the light. The upper one, nearly out of reach, had scrolls stacked one atop the other and bound books, some faintly glowing with preservation spells that gave them a luminescent quality.

He pulled off a fat one midway down, one titled "Dracula" and flipped through it. He froze at the scary illustration of a fanged creature dressed in black. Snapping that one shut, he slid it back into place.

He squatted down to examine the bottom shelf. There were so many fairy tales. Nothing here felt organized. How did Arthur ever find anything? He also had a growing suspicion these were all books that catered to Arthur's tastes. Except that wouldn't explain the presence of the sappy romance novels. He couldn't picture Arthur enjoying love stories, not with his attitude about love.

One very worn and very used book caught his eye and he pulled it off, opening it across his lap since he couldn't use his hand. His eyes bugged open at the black and white depiction of two men engaged what could only be described as sex.

Mouth going dry, he eyed Arthur, relieved to see the man too occupied with his spell circle to notice Alfred had opened a pornographic book. As Alfred's turned the page the illustrations only grew more perverted.

He felt hot all over. All the text looked like it was written in Greek, a language Alfred couldn't read, but the illustration told the meaning well enough. It wasn't that Alfred had never seen pornographic material — drawings imported on woodblocks from Japan, foreign material collected by the Ax — but it had always been a man with one or more women.

Never of men doing it with each other.

Arthur muttered something and Alfred tensed, glancing over. However, Arthur now had his back to Alfred while his chalk made a _scritch, scritch_ on the stone.

Licking his lips, Alfred squirmed in his position, feeling funny and light all over. He stopped on one page that featured three men, drawn in thick black lines with grecian features. One was sandwiched between the two, his mouth _servicing_ one's curly-haired crotch while his rear was thrusted into by the other. All had their eyes rolled up in what looked an expression of pleasure.

Leaning so close his nose was within inches of the page, Alfred studied it. He had always believed the sight of such a thing would make him gag, not feel so… warm.

A drop of sweat dripped from the tip of his nose, his breath quickening and his body flushing as he thought of him and Arthur in such positions.

 _No!_ he thought in horror, shutting the book and ramming it back on the shelf so hard Arthur looked over.

"Something wrong?" Arthur asked.

"N-no!" Alfred said, wincing at the squeak in his voice. He dare not look over, he knew his expression would look guilty.

"Well, quit playing around, git!" Arthur grumbled, sounding very suspicious.

In horror, Alfred realized he had slightly stiffened down there and could not stand until he cooled down. Mind racing, he thought of disgusting things such tea, salad, and… the most horrifying image he could conjure up: his father and Tino having sex.

With a shudder, that had the effect of dousing cold water fast on his arousal. No child wants to imagine a parent of theirs in sex acts. As the bile rose in his throat, he stood up in relief, glad his father was finally good for something.

"Finished yet?" he said as Arthur stood up, throwing him a frown.

"Magic can't be rushed," Arthur said, lifting his chin in a haughty way. "Now stand back. You'll see what _real_ magic is like."

"Oh, you're not gonna summon a unicorn, are you?"

"Belt up, git!"

Arthur closed his eyes and bowed his head, lips beginning to move soundlessly through the words. Alfred could feel the magic growing in the air and the spell circle's lines started to glow with a witchy green light that was faint at first.

 _There's no way I could find him attractive_ , Alfred thought as he found himself looking over the lean man. He could never do such things with him. He had better taste than some handsome-looking, silky-haired…

 _Dammit!_ he cursed in his head. What was wrong with him?

He shivered, feeling fluttery in his stomach. A new wave of images of Tino moaning under Berwald quickly squashed any aroused feelings of Arthur.

Diverting his attention, Alfred looked around, marveling at all the detail of this place. Why go to such extravagant lengths for a prison? Just to teach Arthur a lesson? It seemed a waste of an entire universe in his opinion. Alfred would have added an astronomy tower so one could study the stars. He so loved gazing at them and searching for constellations. It was heartbreaking that there was no night sky here.

A crackling sound, followed by a brilliant flash of green light under Arthur and then it was gone. All that for a brief burst of life. Then the only source of light was the lantern.

"Was that it?" Alfred asked right before a line of green raced out, traveling in the opposite direction Arthur faced.

"Shush, we go this way," Arthur said, grabbing the lantern. Alfred quickly followed behind him.

"Isn't that the opposite of where you thought it was?"

"Oh be quiet," Arthur muttered grumpily as they followed the line of light. "Waste of magic. I go this way all the time!"

"I've never seen a spell like this? You can do this?" Alfred said, staying beside Arthur.

"Of course. Much must be _primitive_ in your time. Or you're just a bad student," from Arthur's tone it was obvious what answer he was leaning towards.

"So you must be pretty decent with magic."

"Pr-pretty decent?" Arthur sputtered, scowling at Alfred. "I was an apprentice to Merlin. I was one of the greatest who ever lived. I was more than _pretty decent."_

"So you were _very_ decent then?" Alfred said, grinning.

"Sod off, git!"

Alfred laughed as he trotted beside the grumpy wizard.

* * *

 **Note # 1 —**

For some reason a lot of ghosts stories always depicted a ghostly women dressed in white. The White Woman is in numerous tales of haunted places.

* * *

TBC… in " **Tell Me Of Love Everlasting"**


	15. Tell Me A Fairy Tale Pt 1

**Note —**

Thank you for all your feedback! Next update I'll properly thank all the reviewers.

Most said they liked the current title so I think I'll stick with my readers advice.

* * *

 **Tell Me Of Love Everlasting**

* * *

Alfred led Arthur in a slow dance, their bodies swaying.

To any observer it would look as if Arthur was a puppet, body slumped against Alfred's chest, face buried in his breastbone. Each of his feet often had to be nudged into the proper positions by Alfred. His hands were held — one up above their shoulders and one to Alfred's side.

Only a keen eye would see past that illusion and an even keener ear would hear Arthur's slurred murmurings. Things such as, "You smell of cookies", "Mmm… bet you taste like them", "can I lick you, git?", and far more lewd.

Despite being drunk out of his wits, Arthur had amazing hand-eye coordination and _very_ nimble fingers — ones that had already squeezed Alfred's ass three times and fondled his manhood once. Not eager to be groped anymore, Alfred struggled to keep Arthur's hands in place.

To say Alfred regretted his deal was an understatement.

But a deal was a deal.

Alfred had another struggle: the temptation of Arthur. He suspected the man must be using some kind of sorcery. Why else did the man's mixture of tea and woodsy scent smell so intoxicating?

Every time Arthur moved his head, his silky hair brushed against the bottom of Alfred's jaw, sending warmth throughout Alfred's body. Alfred tried not to imagine carding his fingers through those locks. He tried not to notice how perfectly their bodies fit together and how warm Arthur felt.

He reminded himself that this surly creature not only wasn't entirely human, but only wanted one thing. A thing Alfred did not, absolutely not.

So why did he want to pull Arthur closer and wrap his arms around him?

A sudden bulge against his thigh caused Alfred to peek down and, face heating up, realize Arthur was grinding his growing erection against Alfred's thigh. Their only divide was the fabric of their breeches, ones Alfred put on little over an hour ago

Biting back a groan, Alfred said, "I never agreed to let you hump me."

Arthur tilted his face upward to stare at Alfred with eyes clouded in a haze of alcohol. They glittered almost like emeralds in the firelight. In a voice surprisingly coherent for having downed a bottle of wine, Arthur said, "How about you teach me 'The Dance Between the Sheets'?"

"How about no," Alfred said tersely, suddenly tipping Arthur backwards and lifting one of the man's legs. He had the satisfaction of seeing Arthur's startled face and hearing the man yelp as he clutched at Alfred for support.

But letting go of one of Arthur's hand proved a mistake as the man reached up to stroke Alfred's manhood, eliciting a gasp from him. His mouth went dry, blood rushing to his groin. It felt good.

To save himself, he let go, attempting to drop Arthur to the floor. However, Arthur was fast and latched on, pulling Alfred down on top of him. They landed in a tangle of limbs and Arthur's hands roamed him as Alfred struggled to get away.

Oh, how Alfred regretted agreeing to this dance lesson.

* * *

 **Two Hours Prior**

* * *

In contrast to the creepy library, Arthur's Study was cozy and warm. Scents of herbs, wood smoke, and burnt cooking teemed in the air. A low-burning fire crackled in a stone hearth to the left of the arched doorway they entered.

Ducked down to avoid bumping his head on the doorway, Alfred gave a whistle of admiration at the room as he shut the heavy oaken door behind them. Before he could notice anything else, his gaze fixed on the far wall across from the door. One covered in a grand display of cutlasses, daggers, swords, scimitars, maces, and staffs. The dull orange fire light reflected in the blades.

There were five staffs of different wood types, two of which had fine-cut gemstones on top, and one glowed with magic. Its ruby cast a pink light on the wall around.

However, what stole Alfred's heart and breath away was the short sword in the center, one with a sapphire in the hilt and elvish script etched into the blade. He swallowed hard, reaching toward it as his feet moved.

Arthur caught his upper arm, forcing him to look away. "No, git," the man said, as if reading his mind. He had hung his coat and hung on a nearby peg. "They're not for you."

"Why not?" Alfred whined. "I know how to handle swords!"

"I've no doubt you can handle long, _erect_ objects, but you're not handling _those_ ," Arthur said.

"But I'll be careful. C'mon," Alfred said.

"That's what they all say until someone loses a finger," Arthur said. "The answer is no."

"I'm trapped down here thanks to you! I have a right!"

"Not to my things."

"Isn't everything _technically_ yours? This whole world appears contrived for you. Where are my things?"

"It's not for me. This is a prison," Arthur said defensively. "You… you can have a few things."

"Things you don't want. Face it, this is more like a gilded cage," Alfred said. "That I've been dragged into. Why should I have to ask your permission to use stuff down here?"

Arthur fell silent for a moment in thought. Then, putting a fist to his side, said, "You're not toying with those. I'll find you some wooden ones."

"W-wooden? I'm not some kid!"

"To me you are. I've lived centuries longer than you," Arthur said, sounding put-out.

"Oh, don't act like some overbearing big brother. That's the last thing I need," Alfred said, trying to shake Arthur off and head for the weapons. "I'll be careful and it'd be nice to have a sword again."

He suspected he lost his in the river. His memory was hazy of sinking into the river.

"Stop being so obstinate," Arthur said huffily. "After that display in the library do you honestly think I'd give you something sharp to swing around? And furthermore, you seem to be under the impression that you have a right to what belongs to me."

"To us," Alfred corrected. "And I do. Maybe we should write a letter declaring what's ours and what our rights here are."

"What like a bill of rights? Don't be a tosser." Arthur said, sounding offended. "Only you'd come up with such a silly notion. What next? You'll pen a letter declaring the independence of certain possessions?"

"That's not a bad idea actually," Alfred said in thought.

"Oh belt up, git! Stop blathering about rights. Tell you what, how about I do let you play with the weapons in exchange for something," Arthur said, tapping a forefinger to his chin, his eyes lit deviously.

"Like a fee?" Alfred gasped.

"Yes, every time you want to use them you give me something, preferably with that cracking body of yours. I do like the idea of you laboring _under_ me."

Alfred scowled. Voice colored with anger, he snapped, "Like a tax? You want to tax me to use the weapons. That's disgusting! Will you tax the food as well? What about the tea?"

"T-tax tea? That's absurd!" Arthur scoffed. "How did you jump to such a thought? As if I'd tax tea! Honestly! If anything, I encourage you to drink more. It'll do you good."

"Well, I don't take orders from you. You're not my king."

"When did I ever say I was? Then again, I am sort of the king down here. Welcome to my bloody empire," Arthur said sarcastically, waving a hand around. "Now stop whining about the weapons."

"What's the big deal if I practice with them? You hardly take care of them. Look at all the cobwebs."

"Those grow overnight. I clean and polish them every day," Arthur said.

"And I could help with that chore," Alfred said and Arthur blinked in surprised at that. "I swear it's not like I'm going to rebel or anything with them. I can't hurt you."

"How about _if_ you can defeat me in mage combat I'll —."

"What?" Alfred interrupted. "That's not fair!"

"Why? Because you can't?" Arthur said. "Sounds fair to me."

"How about something we're equal in. Like cooking," Alfred lied, seeing a bold advantage here. He had great taste.

"As skilled as I am, I don't agree with that. Defeat me in magery and I'll consider it."

"How about a sword fight?" Alfred said, eyeing up the lean man. He was sure he could take him.

Arthur cocked his head to the right. "I'll consider that. Ask me tomorrow."

"Ah, but I want to hold them now," Alfred whined, jerking his arm free from Arthur's grip. The other finally let go. Alfred folded his arms together, toeing at the flagstone and looked closer. There were faded chalk lines in the floor. "Is this a spell circle?"

"Of course it is. I do most of my work in here," Arthur said, tapping his forefinger twice to his temple "I have to memorize what I create. It'll all be erased by midnight."

"Nothing written remains?" Alfred said in surprising, leaning closer to study it in the dim candle and firelight and what came from the lantern Arthur had set down nearby. What kind of rune work was this?

"I said that earlier. Don't you listen?" Arthur said in exasperation.

"This is what you do with eternity?"

"That and other things. My favorite is shagging," Arthur said, leaning close to Alfred's ear and Alfred quickly stepped away, feeling that warm breath against his lobe.

"My uncle Lukas could do better," Alfred said.

"I very much doubt it. Few even in my age were better than me," Arthur said proudly.

"Must've been a small pond if you were one of the best," Alfred said, grinning. He jerked a thumb at his chest. "Now that I'm here, I'll best you. I'll be a super power one day."

"That'll be the day," Arthur said with a snicker, stalking off. He paused before turning the corner out of sight behind a book shelf. Arthur's eyes flashed a dull lime-green. His voice sounded like a knife hidden under silk. "You'll never be as mighty as me."

"Will too!" Alfred hollered after him. "Hey, where are you going?"

"To fetch some spare clothes for ye!" Arthur called back, his voice echoing. "Although you'll just be taking them off before bed."

Alfred's gaze shot over in alarm. Then he began to tiptoe to the weapons until Arthur shouted, "Don't even think of it, git!"

 _How did he know?_ Alfred wondered, stomping a foot in frustration. He didn't want to end up on his back again, but he really wanted to hold them. There had to be a way. Perhaps he could distraction Arthur?

He shook his head. He would definitely not distract Arthur in that. Never that way. And it wasn't fair. They were both stuck down here so shouldn't they share?

As he studied the rest of the room, he felt like a kid again, one who had stumbled in a crazy wizard's attic and was determined to find buried treasure. It was a large room, but everything made it feel cramped.

In front of the hearth was a long, pine table without a clear space. Clutter dominated its surface, things such as a small cauldron, an open book on a stand, potions, bowls, a cutting board, a basket of various fruits and vegetables, knifes, and more. A bench was to either side of it. In the center was a candle cradled by a plate of pelvis bones, each topped by the skull of a beaked animal.

Stacks of books were everywhere. The way Arthur had gone was lined with perpendicular rows of shelves. Every space on them had glass ware, metal contraptions, bottles and bowls of every shape and color, bones and skulls of animals, waxen candles, yarn, scraps of needle work, scrolls, books, jars with preserved creatures, and skulls of animals. There were eight rows going to the back wall where a dark green couch stood under a stain-glassed window.

Holes and stains, visible from here, riddled the couch, but it looked comfy. To the left, not visible, was Arthur digging through something by the sounds of it. Occasionally, a doily or item hit the sofa or went rolling by in front of it as Arthur tossed stuff.

Most of his cursing couldn't be heard. However, every now and again he said something loud enough like, "Where did I put them? Blasted chest! I know it's here!"

"Need some help?" Alfred called, drawing closer to a shelf to examined all the marked and unmarked potion jars.

"I'm fine!"

With a frown, Alfred narrowed his eyes, sure that there was a unicorn doll atop one of the couch's throw pillows. He shook his head. Arthur had strange taste.

His eyes set upon a rose-red glass jar with a worn label, frayed at the edges, that had a picture of skull and cross bones drawn on it. Picking it up, he swirled about the syrupy liquid inside, wondering if it was poison and what type.

Since he could not die, it didn't seem like it would hurt to take a sniff. He reached for the cork just as Arthur came around the corner, carrying a folded light-blue tunic and a pair of brown breeches.

He halted, green eyes flicking from Alfred to the bottle.

"Git, it's not that awful down here," he said wryly. "No need to take your own life."

Alfred winced, straining to keep his smile up. He put the jar back. "I just wanted a whiff. Is it nightshade?"

"Figures you'd choose the one marked as poison," Arthur grumbled, thrusting the clothes at Alfred. "Go hurry and change. Unless you want to stay in your night clothes. Or better, no clothes."

He waggled his eyebrow.

Alfred shot him a frown as he walked by, heading down the book shelves and ducked out of sight where Arthur had been. There was a now closed wooden chest, the one Arthur had dug these out of. They had a musty smell like they had been stored too long.

"You might want to be careful about fiddling with my potions," Arthur called. Alfred glanced over his shoulder as he shed his clothing, changing as fast as he could. Eager to be in real clothes. "While you can't die, you could turn yourself into something unnatural."

"Like a dragon?" Alfred said in a hopeful voice. That would be so amazing.

"No! Where does your mind wander? Perhaps a cute rabbit or maybe a cat. That would be adorable." He swore he heard Arthur squee.

"Do you make potions to creature adorable critters? I didn't think you were the type."

"I—- no! Of course I don't." Yet Arthur's high-pitched had an unmistakable embarrassment. "What's wrong with cute animals?"

"Ah, that's why you want me. I'm adorable," Alfred joked. He heard Arthur cough instead of giving the expected comeback. "No peeking!"

"I already saw underneath earlier," Arthur teased.

Alfred flushed. With a glance at the chest, he called, "How about some boots?"

"They won't fit you. They're for my size."

"Are the clothes as well?"

"Yes, why?"

"So you're petite?"

"Shut it, git!"

* * *

Swinging his arms outward and twisting his hips, Alfred tested the pull of the fabric. He kept frowning. He felt Arthur's gaze studying him intensely from the table where Arthur sat on a stool. The man had cleared a space and set out various items such as a wash bowl, potions, a cloth and more.

"Question," Alfred asked, pointing to the end of the tunic, just under the brown belt that pulled it in at the waist. "Why are their unicorns embroidered here?"

"There's nothing wrong with unicorns!" Arthur sputtered. "They're a dangerous creature! One of the most powerful."

"Uh-huh," Alfred said. "And this is for you, right?"

"I already said so!"

"It just seems cut more for a girl."

"Git!" Arthur snapped, scowling at him.

"I mean its tight across the chest and the bottom of the pants don't even reach my ankle. And man, the waist —."

"Well then go naked!" Arthur interjected, hitting a fist on the table. He sounded miffed. "Perhaps all that fat bum of yours is the reason!"

"Nah. Maybe you're scrawny," Alfred said. "The size of a toothpick."

"No need to compare me to your todger," Arthur responded, looking to be examining dirt under his nails. Alfred frowned, wondering what a todger was. Arthur waved at the empty stool in front of him. "We haven't all day. Sit, git!"

"I'm not a dog," Alfred glowered, stomping over. His slippers made a sliding noise that somewhat ruined the effect. He sat down heavily and held out his ruined hand expectantly.

"Is that so? And I was going to play fetch and give you a treat…" Arthur trailed off, the sarcasm naked in his voice.

"And I was going to rub your belly and see if you'd play dead," Alfred said. They stared at each other, eyes narrowing.

After a pause, Arthur looked away first with a heavy sigh and dipped the cloth in the herbal-smelling water, letting it soak before he wrung it out. He took Alfred's hand and set it gently on the table.

"This will sting," he warned.

Alfred sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as the cloth pressed down and Arthur wiped specks of dirt and grime out of his broken knuckles. It was amazing how little he felt on the way here. How had Arthur numbed it so effectively? Even Matthew could not have done that.

It was hard to look at his hand and realize it was his own. It felt separate from his body. The middle finger was bent out at a wrong angle. One of the nails had partly torn off his pinky. He should be hurting a lot worse. He should be doubled over, instead he had changed his clothes and warned around.

"This will heal by midnight, right?" Alfred asked nervously.

"It should. It always does," Arthur said, cleaning the wound so softly. Alfred almost closed his eyes to bask in the gentle carress. "Sometimes, if the injury is severe as that hole in you was, it takes a couple nights. This should be gone by morning. Don't think that means you should go hurting yourself like this."

Alfred stifled a yawn, his eyes slightly drooping from the soothing sensation.

"Sleepy already? It must be past your bedtime," Arthur said.

"Hmph," Alfred grunted. "Your droning could put anyone to sleep."

He winced when Arthur squeezed his hand. Setting aside the cloth, Arthur grabbed a red glass bottle and pulled out the stopper with his teeth and put that down, before holding Alfred's hand over the bowl and pouring the liquid from the bottle over his injury.

After having felt so little, Alfred was not ready for the rush of agony that followed. His eyes bugged out and he wailed, jumping to his feet, trying to yank his hand away. Arthur held him firmly as he writhed and yelped. Finally, it subsided. He felt his bones crunching, moving, reshaping and stared in wonder as they went back into place.

"Wh-what… did you do?" he said, sweat running from his forehead.

"A special potion of mine," Arthur said smugly. "One I invented for quick healing."

"But…" Alfred lifted his hand and opened and closed his fist in amazing. "It's almost back to knew."

"It only lasts for a few hours," Arthur said. "The injury would return, but all you need is a few hours for midnight. This potion would only work once on an injury. Never twice in a row and never for more than half a day."

"That's amazing," Alfred said as Arthur patted his hand dry. "You created this."

"Invented it."

"You must be an amazing wizard," Alfred said. Arthur smiled, chest puffing out. "I didn't know such a thing was possible."

"I never shared it. The ingredients are… _hard_ to come by in the real world."

"Yet you can get them down here?" Alfred said. "How do you get the stuff?"

"I stumble across it sometimes when I forage around," Arthur said. "I collect it. New stuff appears at midnight. Things someone needs. Don't ask about the things that appeared when the frog came here." Arthur cringed. "And you think I'm perverted." He muttered something under his breath that sounded like, "rose-scented lube. Hmph!"

Alfred was happy his hand was fixed, but he missed Arthur's tender touch. Somehow it had made him happy to be fussed over, even more than when Matthew or Tino had done it. This felt different, _deeper_.

Sometimes Alfred used to injure himself just so his mother or Tino would worry over them. He had been addicted to that feeling. It was silly, but he had always been attention-starved as a child.

He stole glances to Arthur who cragged a tall, dark bottle and held it between his legs, trying to yank out the cork. Arthur's brow furrowed as he strained. He reminded Alfred of the feathered eyebrows of a horned owl. An image he found both endearing and hilarious.

"Thank you," Alfred said, grinning wide.

Arthur looked up, seeming surprised. Then he had to ruin it by saying, "If you want to thank me, use that hand to wank me."

Alfred groaned, smile falling off. He wanted to slap a palm against his forehead.

"Here," he said, taking the bottle and with a couple twists it popped off shooting to the ceiling where it hit and ricocheted off to land somewhere on the floor.

They exchanged a surprised look and then shrugged, Arthur grabbing two cups and handing one to Alfred who took it in surprise.

"You are strong, git," Arthur said, grabbing the bottle.

"What is this?" Alfred asked.

"Pain-killing potion," Arthur said, filling Alfred's cup.

After sniffing it, Alfred said, "It's wine."

"No, it's a magic potion that makes your troubles vanish," Arthur said, pouring into his own. He held up his cups. "Cheers."

"I don't drink," Alfred said, adding, " _Often_."

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to lie?"

Alfred studied the wine in his glass, rolling it from side to side. In a grim voice, he said, "She did."

He glanced up to see Arthur studying him. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that was a delicate matter."

"It's fine," Alfred said, running his fingers through his hair.

"Bottoms up," Arthur said, chugging his back and then re-filling.

"No thanks."

"Suit yourself. More for me. I didn't know you were weak to alcohol."

 _Weak?_ He frowned at Arthur. "I'm not weak! I could drink you under the table."

"Suuuure," Arthur said.

 _Oh, it's on_.

Alfred tilted his head back and gulped it down.

* * *

 **Present**

* * *

And that was how Alfred ended up agreeing to teach a slow dance from his mother's homeland to Arthur while tipsy and the other drunk. Arthur had agreed to let him borrow the short sword for dance lessons when really Alfred suspected the man wanted an excuse to get physically close to Alfred and cared very little about learning to dance.

After finally extracting himself from a top Arthur, they had finished another bottle and stumbled to the sofa. Well, Alfred had stumbled over there to get away from Arthur who followed behind him. He plopped down and Arthur laid down, putting his head in his lap.

"Barnacles are less clingy," Alfred remarked.

"But not as sexy, love," Arthur said affectionately, rubbing his cheek against Alfred's lap.

Alfred leaned his head back to rest on the top of the sofa. He found himself, petting Arthur's hair. At first it was just because it was soft, then he simply couldn't stop.

"You don't have human hair," he said with a hiccup. "So soft. Like a cat."

Arthur chuckled.

"You must be my dog. Good boy," Arthur said.

"Why do you…" Alfred paused to remember his words. His head spun. "Why did a fuzzy caterpillar die on your face? _Yeoch!_ You pinched me."

"Don't be rude, git," Arthur said, scowling up at him. "If you must know this is a curse. One of my great, great grandfather made a tiny mistake and the male lines got stuck with these. Or that's what my mother told me."

"Huh. Peter has those eyebrows. Are you and he…"

"Could be," Arthur shrugged. "Who cares. Now why do you have that glassy-eyed, slack-jawed look?"

"I do not look slack-jawed," Alfred said, touching his chin. "I'm strong-jawed. Why are you weak-chinned?"

He poked at Arthur's cheek and the other playfully bit at his finger. He smiled, pretending to poke until Arthur's mouth did catch his finger. Instead of biting, Arthur suckled on it, making moaning sounds that caused Alfred to blush. He quickly pushed Arthur off and to the other side of the couch.

"Don't do that!" he said, wiping off his hand on the sofa.

"Nasty," Arthur said, in disapproval.

"It's your spit! What the hell was that?" Alfred said, feeling a little more sober.

"Seduction," Arthur said huskily.

* * *

TBC… "Part II of Tell Me A Fairy Tale".

I couldn't go on. I… I … had to stop here. This had to be broken in half. I'll get part two up later. I wanted to get the small twist in the flashback with Lord Lukas, but that'll have to wait until next time. I hope you enjoyed the interaction of these two. Happy Valentine's Day!

* * *

 **Coming Soon**

I have two stories coming out. Their first chapters are almost written. If one is particularly more interesting to you please let me know and I'll put extra effort into that.

The first is an Omegaverse with fairies. This takes place in a realm known as the Midsummer Woods. They are actual fairies like tinkerbell with dragonfly-like wings.

If you're interested here is the blurb…

* * *

 **The Omega Fairy**

Kidnapped by Ivan, king of the winter fairies, Alfred is a unique omega fairy with the power to grant a wish to the Alpha who mates him on his first heat at 19. When the summer fairies attempt a rescue, Alfred escapes for the borders of their world, the others in hot pursuit. Soon he meets a rogue Alpha named Arthur…

(Rusame? Ameripan? UKUS? OMEGAVERSE with fairies.)

Rated M

* * *

It could be summed up as:

A bunch of Alpha fairies pursue a special Omega fairy.

Also in the pipeline and with the first update very closed to finish…

* * *

 **Boys Over Toys**

Based on "Boys Over Flowers". When Alfred F. Jones transfers to Hetalia High, a school for the elite, he soon ends up punching out the bully Ivan Braginsky, leader of the Bad Touch Trio and billionaire heir to Winter Corporations. That sets in motion events as Ivan seems to have a crush on Alfred, one he shows in the creepiest ways possible. Gakuen Hetalia. RUSAME.

Rated T

* * *

While I do hope to complete most of my stories in time, popular stories do get prioritized. If there is a story you really want to be continued your reviews, likes, and favs, heavily influence my motivation.

So if any of these interest you, keep an eye out. **Boys Over Toys** is especially close to having its first update posted. It'll be about 4,000 words.


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